


The Mighty Fall

by Pigzxo



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Gansey the Cock Block King, Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Unhappy Ending, bring vodka and tissues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-11 21:03:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 58,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5641921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pigzxo/pseuds/Pigzxo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1888, Adam Parrish is hired by the Gansey’s to report on their son’s engagement, a task made harder by who Gansey intends to marry and the presence of the less than upstanding Ronan Lynch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Adam Parrish had worked hard for his station in life. He’d held three jobs to put himself through school, begged his way into the type of institution that taught only the noblest of families, and finally, after years of working himself to the bone, landed a job that paid well enough to become his career. Sure, it was still tight to pay rent and have food on the table and get around town hiring carriages, but he made it work. He stayed at the office from nine to five, kept his head down, and tried to impress the editor whenever possible.

            Which was why he was surprised to be called into Mr. Whelk’s office late one Monday afternoon. He’d been working overtime to finish an extra piece for tomorrow’s paper, a short exposé on the rise of mob culture, when Mr. Whelk asked to see him.

            Adam sweated. He sweated a lot when the boss wanted to see him, sweated more than he should have. But light white cotton hid the worst of it and if he kept his arms close to his tweed vest, he might escape without the editor berating him for his unprofessional appearance.

            “Mr. Parrish,” Mr. Whelk said when Adam knocked on the open office door.

            “Mr. Whelk,” Adam said. He inclined his head and stood just before the editor’s desk, not daring to sit down without permission. “I was told that you needed to see me.”

            “Yes,” Mr. Whelk said, even though it seemed that that was the least of his concern at the moment. He had dark spectacles on the end of his nose and was looking down at a newspaper. A newspaper that, due to its oversized font and grubby edges, was most definitely not their newspaper, the _Daily._ “Tell me, Mr. Parrish. Do you know what number should appear in this box?”

            Adam stepped closer to look at the puzzle. He opened his mouth several times, no words coming out, and closed it quickly in case Mr. Whelk looked up. A minute passed in tense silence and then he said, “I’m not sure there is one, sir.”

            “Exactly!” The editor pounded his fist against the desk. The oak structure, solid and sturdy, straight from the Gansey household, shook against the uneven floorboards. Mr. Whelk’s beady eyes rested on Adam and he pointed his pen at him. “That’s the kind of shoddy work they do over at the _Gazette,_ Mr. Parrish.”

            Adam nodded, uncertain where this was going.

            “I heard you interviewed with them.”

            “Me?” Adam asked. His voice went up an octave and he fought to lower it. “No, sir. I would never. The _Daily_ is the only paper worth my time, sir.”

            “Are you certain?”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “Good, because if I had heard that you were interviewing at other newspapers, writing articles for them... I’d have to let you go,” Mr. Whelk said.

            Adam swallowed. “Of course, sir. I would expect nothing less.” He curled his hands into tight fists, aware that he couldn’t fidget. The editor was good at spotting liars. “Is that all you asked me in here for?”

            “No, of course not, Parrish,” he said. He took off his spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “A sensitive matter has come up in the Gansey family and, because it is bound to break one way or another, they have asked us to handle it in the least scandalous manner possible. There will be an announcement and a few follow up pieces, but what we really need is a man on the ground, ready to spin any minor problems in the family’s favour. I told them I had just the man for the job.”

            “Who, sir?”

            Mr. Whelk gave him a withering look. “You, Parrish.”

            “Me?”

            “There is no one on my staff that likes a scandal less than you and therefore you’re the only one I can trust to take on the story, spin it for this paper, and not sell the juicy parts on the side.” His eyes flicked back to the newspaper, caught on the unfinished puzzle, and he frowned. “Any paper would die for this story. Any reporter would die for the chance to enter the Gansey household as a confidant.”

            “Of course, sir. Any reporter.”

            “Hopefully not you.”

            “Excuse me?”

            Mr. Whelk stood and walked around his desk. Adam turned with his movements, flinched when the editor stepped too close. Mr. Whelk poked his finger into Adam’s chest and left it there, a pointed reminder of his power as he said, “Any reporter would jump to sell the family’s secrets to the highest bidder. Get into their house, play the cards right, become a shoulder to cry on, and then hand the scandal off to anyone who wants to publish their poorly written prose. That is what a reporter would jump at, Mr. Parrish. A chance to embarrass the oldest and best family in town. Is that an opportunity you wish for, Mr. Parrish?”

            Adam swallowed hard, looked up into black eyes. His mind raced for the right answer and he said, softly, “No, sir?”

            “Is that a question?”

            “No. Sir. It’s not,” Adam said. To regain his composure, he closed his eyes for a brief second as Mr. Whelk stepped back. “I would never sell the secrets of the Gansey family. The Gansey family has no secrets as far as I’m concerned. Any story about them is a story with class and if you want class, I am your man, Mr. Whelk.”

            “You promise to stick to the story you’re told and not go digging? I don’t want to hear any complaints about the public deserving the truth,” Mr. Whelk said.

            “I promise, sir.”

            “Cross your heart.”

            “Of course.”

            “Say it.”

            “I cross my heart, sir,” Adam said. “I swear on my mother’s grave that the secrets of the Gansey family are safe with me.”

            Mr. Whelk stared him down for a few seconds and Adam forced himself to meet his gaze, keep his chin up. He swallowed nervously, knew his Adam’s apple must be bobbing like crazy. His fingers itched to uncurl, to reach for a pen and start taking notes on whatever the scandal was. But he had to remain calm. To be let into the Gansey household, he needed to keep his composure.

            “Very well then,” Mr. Whelk said. He took his seat again. “You’re dismissed.”

            Adam stayed in place for a moment and then said, “Forgive me, sir, but you never told me what the story was. What scandal am I supposed to be averting?”

            “Their youngest,” Mr. Whelk said, distinctly uninterested in the conversation, “Richard Campbell Gansey III.” He paused to make a note in the margin of the puzzle and then tore the small section from the paper. “Has gotten engaged.”

            The words fell flat in the room, steamrolled Adam’s expectations. “Congratulations,” Adam said, more to be polite than because he thought it needed to be said to Mr. Whelk. He swallowed hard, wondered if he could say anything more. The last of his confidence burst up inside him and he found the nerve to say, “But, well, excuse my ignorance sir, but I fail to see how this warrants a reporter on the ground. Mr. Gansey is twenty-one, of prime betrothal age. Certainly it’s a good thing that he’s offered his hand in marriage.”

            He waited for Whelk to say something, his eyes on the top of the editor’s balding head. He wondered who the youngest Gansey had proposed to. Surely it was a scandal for him to be readying to marry before his sister, Helen, who had been avoiding proposals like the plague for as long as Adam had known of the Gansey’s. She herself, unmarried at twenty-six, was quite the scandal, but kept quiet and out of the way, so there was no need for extra cover where she was concerned. As for Richard Campbell Gansey III himself, he was always near to disaster, but a proposal seemed like something that the family would be happy about, a wife to keep him in line, to keep him on track to become the next mayor of the city. A Gansey wedding was an event, a citywide parade, not a scandal.

            “It would’ve been,” Mr. Whelk agreed, “had the boy proposed to one of the many girls paraded in front of him every day since the time he was old enough to take his thumb out of his mouth. Had he proposed to a Little or a Beaufort, a Czerny or even a goddamned Lynch, perhaps this would be a cause for celebration. An entire issue dedicated to the proposal, the engagement party, the happy couple’s plans for their wedding. If the youngest Gansey did anything the way he was supposed to, then perhaps you would not be in my office, privy to this once in a lifetime opportunity, asking questions that have already crossed the line from polite to the type of investigative banter likely to get you thrown out of this building on your ass for prying into the personal lives of your employers, and wasting my precious time before a new issue is published.”

            Adam swallowed hard, readied an apology. But Mr. Whelk went on, “Perhaps it is necessary to tell you that the youngest Gansey has proposed to a girl well below his station.” His beady black eyes flickered over the tops of his spectacles and met Adam’s nervous gaze. “I believe you know her. Miss Blue Sargent?”


	2. Chapter 2

Ronan Lynch was far from what passed for “proper” company at the Gansey household. But the definition of _proper_ company had taken quite a hit now that the youngest Gansey was home from college, bringing home his pet projects every single night and now claiming to be “in love” with a street rat whose family was made up of psychics.

            Yes, asking to be there when Gansey broke the news to his family was the best decision Ronan had ever made in his life. In the last ten minutes, he had heard Richard Campbell Gansey II swear more than he had in the rest of his life combined. In the last five, he’d heard enough material to safely argue that his home life was more in order than that of the Gansey’s and that, new money or not, his people were much classier. At least when fights broke out in the Lynch household no one burst into tears.

            The worst of it was over by now, but the thrill still ran hot in Ronan’s chest. He sat on the bottom stair of the oak wood staircase and looked into one of the Gansey’s many formal sitting rooms. Mrs. Gansey was hunched over in a chair, blowing her perfect ski slope nose into a handkerchief, and Mr. Gansey rubbed her shoulders, his lips moving around promises he wasn’t going to be able to keep. Once Gansey set his sights on something, nothing would get in his way. Most definitely not his parents and the sanctity of his family name.

            Gansey approached, looking considerably younger than his twenty-one years. His brown hair was ruffled, nearly pulled from his head, his shirt sleeves were pushed up, his suit jacket lost somewhere in the sitting room, and his vest rumpled, half unbuttoned. He sat down beside Ronan on the step with a puff of air, like he’d forgotten his cigar. But Gansey would never smoke. It might, in fact, be the only thing that he would never do and one of the only vices his father might have accepted. It would be better than his penchant for bringing in strays, at least.

            “I didn’t expect this to go so badly,” he said, by way of apology.

            Ronan swallowed a laugh. “Oh, I expected much worse.”

            “Yes, and what would’ve been worse, Ronan?” Gansey asked. His hazel eyes were tired, weighed down with a fatigue well past his years. Wrinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes, worn in by late nights studying and early mornings running track. “The house exploding? Helen punching me?”

            “She took a shot,” Ronan said. “Almost made contact.”

            “My father never would have let her ruin my face.”

            “But it would have been so satisfying if he did.”

            Gansey glared at him as he leaned back on his elbows. “May I remind you that you’re a guest in my home and that I can ask you to leave whenever I wish?”

            Ronan shrugged. “Go right ahead, Mr. Gansey. The worst is over. I’m certain all that’s left is the begging, the bribery, the insistence that you can have as many mistresses as you want as soon as you’re married... I know how it goes in these old households. You forget that I live in one.”

            “I do not sleep around,” Gansey said, “and I would never do such a thing to my wife. Blue is my soul mate. My true love. And they will have to accept that.”

            Ronan couldn’t help his laugh now. He looked back into the sitting room, to the bawling Mrs. Gansey and her useless husband. “If you think for one moment they’ll let their prodigal son do this, you’re wrong.”

            “If you think they can stop me, you’re wrong.”

            “You’ll have reporters all over you,” Ronan said, as if Gansey hadn’t said anything. “Watching your every move, making sure you stay in line. From the time your engagement breaks to the end of your marriage vows, you’ll be watched. No adventures, no games, just you and your betrothed posed as the picture of American royalty. You’ll die in your chains before your girl makes it up the aisle.”

            Gansey stared at him, still too tired to form any real reaction to his words. He said simply, “How much did they pay you to say that?”

            Ronan smiled, his lips a feral snake curved around sharp teeth. “You know very well that if they wanted my help your girl would be in the ground, you would be wearing black, and the Gansey family ring would already be on Elizabeth Czerny’s hand.”

            “Don’t speak of that here,” Gansey snapped.

            Ronan pursed his lips, tried to tame his smile and failed. With a glance towards the older Gansey’s, he pushed up onto his feet and tipped his hat in the direction of the youngest Gansey. He saw the smile behind the other man’s terse demeanor, his anger easy to dissuade when he had hours of discussion ahead of him. Ronan straightened his striped vest and pulled his long black coat from the rack. The rack rumbled against the floor, pulling Mrs. Gansey’s next sob up short.

            Ronan inclined his hat towards her as well and said, “I must take my leave. Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Gansey. I hope everything works out for the best.”

            “Come again anytime,” she said, her customary farewell. Except this time it held a note of sincerity, like he, with his new money and rumoured mob connections, was better than a street rat whose mother was a psychic. Ronan tilted his hat again.

            “Mr. Gansey,” he said. Then he looked back at the youngest. “Mr. Gansey.”

            “Mr. Lynch,” the two said in unison.

            Ronan whispered, “Can I be here when they meet her?”

            “You’re awful.”

            “One of my many qualities that will make her look better by comparison.” He stepped towards the door as a butler opened it and raised an eyebrow to repeat the question. Gansey said nothing, just stared straight ahead, straight through him. Ronan stepped out into the snow. “I’ll take that as a yes.”


	3. Chapter 3

Adam arrived early to the Gansey household the next day. He had checked his materials twice, made sure he had all the pens and papers, and practiced speaking in his most formal tone for an hour before leaving the house. His manners were top notch, but he brushed up on proper protocol again, and now wondered whether or not the Gansey’s were the type of family to look down on a reporter trying to help them. Despite working for the family for nearly half a year, he had yet to meet a single member of the family, and had only caught glimpses of the older Mr. Gansey when he came to the paper to meet with Mr. Whelk once a month.

            He took a deep breath and knocked twice. The metal door knocker was heavy and slipped from his hand on the first knock, so he thought a second, steadier knock would be prudent. But now he worried it was too presumptuous and that they would turn him away for seeming too eager to get the story. Another deep breath. Arranged his face to look neutral. Hid his pad and his pen. Tried to look professional, unamazed to be there, uninterested in the story, and polite. Quite the task for a man who hadn’t been trained in the art of holding himself together.

            A butler let him in and took his coat, then led him down a long wood panelled hallway into a sitting room. He had passed another sitting room on the way in, but perhaps it was too casual for guests. A grey jacket was flung over the back of a chair and a rumpled handkerchief sat on a side table.

            The sitting room they did step into, the butler bowing politely and backing out without a word, was spotless white. A pink floral pattern touched the edges of the chairs and couches, but other than that, there was no colour in the room save a large jade bowl in the centre of a glass table.

            Adam blinked, swallowed, and met the eyes of the woman who sat in the armchair across from him. She smiled over the lip of her gold teacup and set it lightly in a saucer. The porcelain barely made a sound. She stood and walked to him, offering her hand. He bent to kiss it, his lips brushing her skin. His heart was on high alert, alarm bells going off in his head. He had expected there to be men here, for Mr. Gansey to greet him at the door or in his study or to be shuttled off to watch the youngest Gansey as soon as possible. A private meeting with Mrs. Gansey was not what he had prepared for.

            “Please, sit,” she said. She took her seat again and waited for Adam to regain control of his legs well enough to perch on the edge of the couch, as far from her as possible. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

            “No, ma’am.”

            “You’ve been told why you’re here?” Her spoon clanked against the sides of her cup.

            “Yes, ma’am.”

            “Good,” she said. “Then you know that my son, Richard Campbell Gansey III, has proposed marriage to Miss Elizabeth Czerny.”

            Adam couldn’t find the energy to blink. Electricity ran through him, freezing every muscle in his body. He was suddenly very glad he had declined tea, even if it wasn’t very polite –he berated himself for this even as he was congratulating himself on the decision– because he would have dropped one of Mrs. Gansey’s delicate porcelain cups.

            “Excuse me, ma’am?” he asked. His voice was too high and he coughed to clear his throat. “Excuse me.”

            “Richard Campbell Gansey III is engaged to Miss Elizabeth Czerny,” Mrs. Gansey repeated, her voice steady. Something about the way her spoon tapped against her tea saucer, a steady beat, told him she hadn’t been misinformed. “Is that not what you’ve heard, Mister...”

            “Parrish,” he said. Panic shot through him. He had kissed a married woman’s hand without even telling her his name. With a deep breath, he regained what little composure he could, and lied, “Of course that’s what I’ve heard, Mrs. Gansey. Everyone over at the paper was very excited to hear that your two great families would finally become one. You must be very happy.”

            “Very,” she replied. She took another sip of her tea, thin pink lips curling around the wavy edge of the cup. “Mr. Parrish, may I be quite frank with you?”

            “Of course, Mrs. Gansey.”

            “And you’ll say nothing of it in your article? Or in any article?”

            Adam swallowed. “Mrs. Gansey, I can guarantee you that anything you say to me that you wish to be held in complete confidence will be held in complete confidence. I am very happy working for your family and your newspaper and would do nothing that might jeopardize that.”

            She nodded, but not like she believed him. The cup clattered into the saucer and she fixed a steely blue gaze on Adam. Adam forgot to blink or swallow or be at all concerned for anything at the moment except for not wetting his pants. “Mr. Parrish, it is imperative that you understand the delicacy of this situation. Our families are meant to be one, must be one. It is what is expected of us. Gansey’s always do what is expected of them. And if my son is to be any exception, it will not be on this matter. Is that understood?”

            Adam nodded.

            “Very well,” she said. She stood. “Now we must go and meet the men. Wouldn’t want to keep them waiting.”

            Adam stood with her, too quickly, and followed from the room without knocking anything over. She led him to a large set of oak doors and knocked demurely, her paralyzing stare softening and a hostess smile curling around her pink lips. A voice called, “Come in,” and she followed the command like she was fresh out of finishing school.

            The doors opened into a library, books towering over Adam at heights he could barely see. Three ladders were in his view and there must have been more to reach even higher. On red leather couches sat two men. One still young and trim in his early forties and the other fiery, defiant, alive in his convictions at only twenty-one. The older man easily flipped on the switch for visitors but it took the younger a little longer to regain his composure in the face of whatever they had spoken about, most likely his betrothal to Miss Czerny.

            “Mr. Parrish from the _Daily_ is here,” Mrs. Gansey said. Then she stepped out of the room as if she was never there, only the soft close of the giant doors giving her away.

            “Mr. Parrish,” Mr. Gansey said, extending a hand. He shook once, roughly, and Adam barely had time to shake back before he dropped his hand. “It is a pleasure to have you here for this joyous occasion. Naturally we wanted a reporter here every step of the way, documenting the engagement from its very first moments. We’re excited to have you in our home and my son is, of course, excited to welcome you into his life.” Here Mr. Gansey gave his son a pointed look and the younger finally stepped forward.

            “Dick Gansey,” he said, his voice tight. His smile was in place though, his manners impeccable. The smile even reached his eyes. “Lovely to meet you, Mr. Parrish. You’re here to write the engagement announcement?”

            Adam nodded, unsure why he was there.

            “Please, sit,” Mr. Gansey said with none of the inherent order in his voice that his wife had. Adam sat and silence ensued. “Certainly you have questions?” Mr. Gansey prompted.

            Adam blinked, his hand reaching instinctively for his pen and paper at the word “questions.” He was sure that he had been expressly instructed _not_ to ask questions. He was to take the information given to him and not pry any further. Just the surface. Tell the story the Gansey’s wanted. Fill a little space in the newspaper every day. Avert the scandal, that was all.

            “Questions,” Adam repeated, trying hard not to let his voice crack and the word itself become a question. He nodded and flipped to a clean page in his notepad, fumbling with the yellowed paper instead of looking up at the two men across from him. He reminded himself to breathe. “Of course. Umm...” He looked up to see both Gansey’s staring back at him, ever polite, neither of them letting on that they thought he was an idiot commoner. Always polite, the Gansey’s. “When did you and Miss Czerny become betrothed?”

            “Last night, of course,” Mr. Gansey said. His son said nothing.

            Adam made a note. “Apologies. Congratulations, Mr. Gansey. Both of you.” He scrambled for words, kept his lips tight together to stop any expressions of silence from coming out. _Breathe, damn you._ “How long have you known you were going to propose?”

            Mr. Gansey laughed. “Since they were kids, of course! The Gansey’s and the Czerny’s have long been good friends and the children get along just fine and have been in love since... well, since before they knew what the word meant.” He laughed again, a winning, political laugh that calmed the air and made everything he said ring true.

            “I’m closer to her father,” the younger Gansey said. There was nothing particularly nasty about the words; he said it dismissively, with a smile, as if he was trying to be helpful. “Noah and I have more shared interests than me and Elizabeth.”

            His father smile tightly. “A good father-in-law/son-in-law relationship is the foundation of any happy marriage.”

            “I thought love was,” the younger said.

            The two glared at each other. Adam cleared his throat and their eyes shot to him. “Apologies,” he said quickly, his voice cracking. He licked his lips and forced a smile. “Sounds like a lovely pairing. Congratulations. Again. Umm... when’s the wedding?”

            This time the younger Gansey answered, “We were thinking spring.” He shot his father a look, a challenge, then added, “It’s her favourite time of year.”

            Adam hesitated, his pen above the paper. He knew for a fact that Elizabeth Czerny, white as a ghost and as easily freckled as a pig when slopped, had nothing but disdain for spring. He met the younger Gansey’s eyes and saw the hope there, the hope that the fact would trip him up, that he would publish it and the jig would be up. He scrawled a line on his pad just to make the man happy.

            Mr. Gansey said, “Anything else you need for the article?”

            “Unless there’s some special fact you’d wish to share with the readers,” Adam said. He looked between the two of them and added, “Sometimes a couple will share a small tidbit about their relationship, nothing important really, maybe the first time they met or when they started courting, to add to the interest of the piece. Not that this isn’t already the most interesting wedding announcement in the paper, sir. Sirs. Mr. Gansey.”

            Mr. Gansey blinked and looked towards his son. “Anything you wish to share, Dick?”

            The younger Gansey looked back at him, hazel eyes fire. “Yes, actually,” he said. His voice was thick with tension and his father smiled. A planned sentence then, something to solidify the honesty of the relationship, something to sell it until the family could work out their issues. Adam got his pen ready, waited for the younger Gansey to spit out his lines. “It’s a lie.”

            “Richard Campbell Gansey!” his father exclaimed.

            “It’s all a lie,” the younger Gansey hissed. “Every last word of it. I’ll marry Elizabeth Czerny over my own dead body. Blue Sargent is the love of my life and I will marry her even if it means living the rest of my life on the streets!”

            Adam’s mouth dropped open and he couldn’t close it. He stared as the younger Gansey yelled at him, as he was ushered from the room by his father, as the doors closed behind him. He managed to close his mouth when Mr. Gansey came back, suddenly older, closer to his age, shocks of grey evident in his dark hair.

            “It’s safe to say that that outburst is off the record?” Mr. Gansey said.

             “It’s your paper, sir.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Marry Elizabeth Czerny,” Gansey said. Well, spat, to be more accurate. “Can you believe it? This lie they’re spinning to save their reputation?”

            “Believe it?” Ronan asked. He walked beside Gansey on the sidewalk, their feet hitting the pavement too loudly in the early morning, all the vagrants staring at their fine clothes and neatly shaved faces. “You would have had better luck claiming you wanted to make an honest woman of a pregnant prostitute than saying you’re in love with a psychic’s daughter.”

            “I will not be pushed around.”

            “Why not? You get a mansion, money, can do anything you want in your life as long as you marry Miss Czerny. It’s easy to say yes, take her hand in marriage, and bed this Sargent girl on the side.”

            “Does that sound like me?”

            Ronan shrugged.

            “Did I ever tell you they offered to let me take classes in myths and history if I didn’t room with you at college?”

            “You should’ve taken it.”

            “No, I shouldn’t have,” Gansey said. “I can study on my own time. I cannot, however, be my own best friend.”

            Ronan rolled his eyes. He glared at a vagrant who came too close to them and the man cowered back into the shadows before Gansey could offer to pay for his breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the next ten years. Ronan picked up the pace a bit, hoping that Gansey would get the hint. “You were born into a charmed life,” he said. “Problem is, no one ever told you it came with conditions. You should always read the fine print, Dick.”

            “Don’t call me that,” Gansey said, somewhat distracted. He slowed to look into a shop window, bars brought down behind the glass to protect the cheap jewels displayed there. “They have this reporter following me now, ready to record my every move. It’s a threat, like if I do or say the wrong thing I’ll bring my family to the ground.”

            “I say burn it all down.”

            Gansey snorted. “Don’t tempt me.”

            “It’s awful hard to tempt you, Mr. Gansey,” Ronan said, his voice smooth as honey. He caught Gansey’s eye and winked before letting his signature smirk slip into place. They turned a corner and Gansey slowed, counting doorways. “Jesus,” Ronan said, “You would’ve had better luck with a prostitute.”

            The buildings here were falling to pieces. Chunks of brick were missing, the morning sun barely touched the garbage strewn streets, and vagrants sat huddled together at every corner, sharing their heat. Puddles of snow touched the pavement, melted away by the sickening heat coming out of the buildings.

            “She lives here?” Ronan asked, not wanting an answer, just wanting his disapproval noted. This level of insubordination was high even for Gansey. “I’ve been to crime scenes and been less afraid I might be killed.”

            Gansey’s hazel eyes settled on him, bored. “The only reason you’re here at all is for my protection. Don’t tell me you’re scared?”

            “Don’t ask questions like that if you don’t want the answers,” Ronan replied. He tapped the gun at his side and Gansey looked away quickly. The smirk reappeared on his face, short lived as the stench of a nearby landfill hit him.

            Gansey stopped in front of a bright, two story building. The first story had a glass window proclaiming it to be SARGENT PSYCHICS. Gansey rapped his fist against the door and was unsurprised to have it swing open under his touch, the door chiming to announce his presence.

            The two men stepped into the dark room, the floor beneath them oriental carpet, the windows blacked out from the inside. A large black table sat at the centre of the room, tarot cards face down on the wood. Ronan walked further in than Gansey –he was the protection after all– and ran his fingers over three cards. He flipped the last one in the row. The Lovers. Fitting.

            “I’m surprised you found this place at all,” Ronan said. He turned to see Gansey staring at a bookshelf filled with bottles. “What happened? Did you get a little too drunk and stumble in here? The psychic tell you that her daughter was the one for you?”

            “Something like that.”

            “And let me guess. This was about two days ago when you got control of your accounts. Really, Gansey, you shouldn’t walk around the bad part of town asking to get robbed and then propose to the first girl who finds a clever way to do it.”

            Gansey’s eyes flashed in the darkness, cut a line of light towards Ronan. “Don’t pretend to be the voice of reason, Lynch. I don’t tell you my stupid ideas so that you can convince me not to go through with them.”

            “And if we were speaking of a whore or a trip to the country or even abandoning your burgeoning political career to become a history professor, I would support you endlessly,” Ronan said. “But we’re talking about giving up your fortune, your status, everything you’ve been so luckily born into that allows you to do stupid things without ruining your entire life, for a _girl_.”

            “Just because you don’t see the appeal of the finer sex does not mean the rest of us are as blind, Ronan.”

            “Are her breasts made of gold, then?”

            “Just flesh, unfortunately.” The lilted accent made Ronan turn his head. A girl stood in a darkened doorway at the back of the room, her hand holding a beaded curtain against the doorframe. She stepped into the sliver of light in the room, her eyes brilliant blue, electric in the darkness. Her hair was curled around her head in an elaborate braid and she was dressed in swirling, dynamically coloured scarves that sparked with flecks of gold. She clicked her tongue. “But perhaps I can make a deal with the devil.”

            Ronan stared as she set a large ceramic bowl of water in the centre of the table, careful not to touch any of the cards. Her eyes lingered on the Lovers, Ronan’s fingers still on them. She looked up at him. “Any reason you flipped that card?” she asked. He shrugged. “I think you might have love coming your way.”

            “I thought you weren’t psychic.”

            “I’m also not an idiot. I can read cards,” she said. She stepped towards Gansey and pecked him on the lips before smoothing his already too smooth lapel. “Why did you bring a bodyguard to my home?”

            “Mr. Lynch is a friend.”

            “A bad one,” she said.

            Gansey laughed lightly, trying to smooth over the tension of the moment. Ronan raised an eyebrow at Blue, an unspoken challenge, and she stared back, accepting.

            “You would’ve had better luck with the prostitute,” Ronan reiterated.

            Gansey shot him a look. “I asked you here to help, not make jokes.”

            “Oh, I am helping,” Ronan said. “Her? Are you kidding me? She’s the daughter of a psychic, and I can see much more than her ankles right now. Your father would chew her up and spit her out in a matter of minutes. And that’s only assuming she makes it past your mother.”

            “My parents accepted you.”

            “I’m rich and could get them killed,” Ronan said. “Her? If you insist, they’ll hire my brother to take her out. I can guarantee you that.”

            “You’re not helping,” Gansey said.

            “I’m trying to keep you from seeing your true love’s brains splattered across the pavement,” Ronan said. “Marry Miss Czerny. Keep _her_ in a nice apartment somewhere, spend nights with her, have low bred children with her for all I care. But do not under any circumstances presume to marry her or let her step foot in your father’s house. At least not as anything more than a maid or the cleaner of your chamber pots.”

            “Ronan,” Gansey snapped.

            Blue held up a hand to stop Gansey from doing whatever he was going to do. Honestly, Ronan would have welcomed Gansey’s aggression. If he hit him, Ronan could swing back, knock some sense into him. But if he attacked first, the Gansey’s would have his head on a stick and his brother’s too.

            “Let him talk,” Blue said. She crossed her arms in an incredibly un-lady-like fashion. “What else is wrong with me, Mr. Lynch? Why else should I fear the parents of the man I love?”

            “The man whose _money_ you love, sweetheart.”

            “My name is Blue, not sweetheart.”

            “And what the hell kind of a name is _Blue_?”

            “That’s enough, Ronan.” Gansey stepped out from behind Blue, shielded her like Ronan had his gun out. Every muscle of his body was tight, ready to fight, but he kept his fists down, probably for Blue’s sake. “I suggest you wait outside, Mr. Lynch, and are silent while you do it.”

            Ronan tipped his hat. “As you wish, Mr. Gansey.”


	5. Chapter 5

To say that getting an invitation to Richard Campbell Gansey III’s engagement party was a surprise would’ve been an understatement. To say that the name Elizabeth Czerny written underneath his in neat cursive was a surprise would’ve been a lie. Adam had to admit he was a bit disappointed that the younger Gansey’s fire hadn’t won out over his father’s love of their family’s reputation. He was sadder still to realize that this invitation meant Blue Sargent’s heartbreak, whether she admitted it or not. He wondered if he should stop by and offer his condolences or if that would be overstepping his boundaries.

            He knew the only reason he was invited was to keep the younger Gansey in line. Any scene made would be reported right back to the press and the Gansey’s were nothing if not hyperaware of their public image. All the same, Adam readied his best suit, his only three piece suit, and buttoned himself into it despite the fact that it was ever so slightly too small. He wrapped a gift, a tea set his mother had given him that he had no use for, and headed over to the Gansey’s mansion for the second time in as many weeks.

            And, for the second time in as many weeks, he was early.

            He stood on the doorstep, debating his next move. The door was open, probably to let staff in and out as they prepared for the party to start, and he could most likely walk right in. But the knocker was in plain sight and surely it was more polite to announce his presence rather than barge in like a heathen, like a sneaky reporter intent on revealing all the family’s secrets.

            As he stood debating, movement came from the stairwell. Adam looked that way to see a young man walk down the stairs. His dark hair was cropped close to his head, close enough that one might call him bald, and he had blue eyes that paralyzed, ice cold. His suit had grey pinstripes on silky smooth black fabric. His jacket had been discarded somewhere, his vest was undone along with his green and black tie. The top three buttons of his white cotton shirt were loose, exposing a porcelain collarbone and the top of a strong chest, thick with dark hairs.

            The man stared at Adam for a moment, stopped with one foot hovering above the bottom stair. Then he curled a finger towards him. Adam stepped into the hallway, the space a vacuum for the cold winter air. He shivered but his eyes never left the man’s.

            “Who the hell are you?” the man asked. He took the last two steps quickly and left no more than a foot of space between their faces. He studied Adam like one might a particularly good painting or a particularly bruised peach. “Another of Gansey’s charity cases?”

            “Excuse me?”

            “You reek of it,” the man said. He stepped back and leaned against the banister. “Honestly, if Gansey’s intent on annoying his dad more than he already has, the least he could’ve done is buy you a decent suit. Where did you find that one? In a dumpster?”

            Adam blinked, at a loss for words.

            “It’d be better if you left,” he said. “Today is not the day for challenging Mr. Gansey’s charity.”

            “I...” Adam swallowed, hard. His composure was shot, but he managed to straighten his back and undo the top button of his vest for a little more breathing room. “I have an invitation.”

            “Of course you do. I suggest you throw it out.”

            “I’m not a... a charity case, sir,” Adam said. He added the last word as an afterthought, the man’s nice clothes, if a little tacky, a clear marker that he was of a higher station than Adam himself. “I’m a reporter here to write a story on the engagement party.”

            A slow smile spread across the man’s thin lips. A sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh left him. “You’re the governess.”

            “Excuse me?”

            “Here to make sure Gansey doesn’t throw a tantrum,” Ronan said. “I need to tell you, you’ve got your work cut out for you.” He reached out and pulled at a thread on Adam’s collar. “If it lasts longer than this party, you’ll need some new clothes.”

            Adam batted away his hand and caught the thread. He ripped it in one smooth motion, keeping his collar mostly intact. “I’ll take it under advisement,” he said, trying not to let the words snap. He could see by the man’s expression that they did though and he swallowed the edge in his voice. “Sir.”

            The man’s blue eyes glittered but, before he could say anything else, a voice from down the hall called, “Mr. Parrish!” The younger Gansey came traipsing down the hall. He took Adam’s hand and shook heartily, a political smile to rival his father’s on his lips. He was dressed warmly in an ivory sweater and brown slacks, looking fresh from college and not at all like the disheveled boy from his father’s study. “I’m so very glad to see you.”

            He paused when Adam didn’t reply and looked towards the other man. His smile faltering only slightly, he said, “I told you not to answer the door.”

            “I didn’t answer the door,” the man said.

            “He beckoned me inside,” Adam explained. He forced himself to relax, for a smile to appear on his lips. “I thought it was all right to come in, Mr. Gansey.”

            “Just Gansey is fine,” Gansey said. “But you’ll do well to know that, as a general rule of thumb, it’s best not to go anywhere that Mr. Lynch may _beckon_ you.”

            Mr. Lynch smiled, feral.

            Adam swallowed. “Lynch?” The word came out as a squeak and he did his best to cover the slip. “Of course, Gansey. I realize that I’m early for the party, but if you would be so kind to show me where I could sit to set up.”

            “Set up?” Gansey asked.

            “Yes. To observe.”

            Gansey laughed a sticky sweet laugh. “Observe? Mr. Parrish, you’re here as part of the party, one of my many esteemed guests. Think of your report as secondary to your own enjoyment. I’m sure that interacting with the guests and hearing what they say will make for a much more interesting article than just observing will.”

            “That’s...” Adam struggled to find the words. “Very kind of you, Mr. Gansey. Gansey. Umm... thank you.”

            Mr. Lynch laughed at him and Gansey’s smile faltered almost imperceptibly.

            “I have much to do before the party, as you might assume,” Gansey said. “I would leave you in the hands of Mr. Lynch, but I’m afraid you’ve done nothing so far to make me believe you deserve such a fate. If you give me a moment, I’ll find my sister, Helen, and she can give you the tour.”

            “You won’t find her,” Mr. Lynch said. He had settled down on the bottom step of the stairwell and twirled an unlit cigar between his long fingers. “She’s hiding from my brother.”

            “Can you blame her?”

            “That would make me a hypocrite. But if you do find her, you can tell her not to worry. Declan finds it impolite to propose at another man’s engagement party.”

            Gansey smiled, a true smile that broke through his act enough that Adam could once again see the boy who had yelled that the whole engagement was a sham. And maybe, just maybe, Adam thought, any condolences he sent Blue would be premature.

            “I shall go find her,” he said. “Ronan, behave yourself. Mr. Parrish, forgive me for leaving you with him for a few minutes more.”

            Adam nodded and watched as Gansey walked away. Even once he disappeared, he refused to let himself look at Mr. Lynch. The man was no older than him, the youngest Lynch brother if Adam remembered correctly, the one who scoffed at his brother’s attempts to legitimatize the family name. Because the truth was, other than rumours, no one really knew how the Lynch family had gained its fortune, only that their rise to high society had been fast and dirty.

            “So, Mr. Parrish,” Mr. Lynch said. His voice was honey, but the kind with bees still in it, like he was ready to sting at any moment. Adam risked a glance over at him and got trapped in his eyes, a spider web of unheard screams. “Tell me. Are they lying to you too?”

            “Excuse me, sir?”

            “No need to call me ‘sir,’ ” Mr. Lynch said. Then he seemed to reconsider and, with the kind of smile that Adam had only seen on the faces of seedy men in seedy bars, said, “Unless you like to. But, what I mean, Mr. Parrish, Parrish, if I may, is the engagement. Tell me, do the Gansey’s lie to their own dogs?”

            Adam blinked. “Excuse me?”

            Mr. Lynch sighed, tiring of his own game. He pulled a box of matches from his pocket and lit the cigar in his hand. Smoke curled around the corridor, lifted towards the door and then flew back down the hallway. “If you insist on playing dumb, you’re welcome to, Parrish. But secrets don’t last long around here. I would know.”

            “I’m surprised you’re here at all,” Adam said, the words rushing out despite his better judgement. Anger ran hot in his blood, the kind of anger he hadn’t felt for years and had fought hard to tame. This man’s sparkling blue eyes pulled it out of him, rampant like wildfire. “I wouldn’t think the Gansey’s would associate with the likes of you.”

            “The likes of me?” Mr. Lynch said, more amused than offended. He blew smoke rings right into Adam’s face. “That’s funny coming from a paperboy with a stain on his collar. Tell me, why’d they give you this assignment, Parrish? Are you the only one in the whole office without the backbone to run to another paper with the real story?”

            Adam met the man’s eyes, steady. He impaled his nails into the palms of his hands. “I am here to do my job, Mr. Lynch. If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to do it without speaking to you.”

            Mr. Lynch’s smile, like the Cheshire cat’s, was a live thing twirling around his lips. “No backbone then,” he said. “Sad. This is the story of a lifetime, an inside look at one of the oldest families and their most elaborate cover-up. And even if you are their dog and loyal to a fault, every good reporter knows not to turn down a one-on-one chance to ask a Lynch a question.”

            “A question?”

            “Any question,” Mr. Lynch said. “Be quick though. Gansey’s bound to have found Helen by now.”

            Adam scanned Mr. Lynch’s face, looking for a hint of trickery. But there was nothing but open honesty and a sharp jaw that could cut glass. Adam glanced back down the empty hallway, listened but heard no sounds, then settled his eyes back on Mr. Lynch. The man had one eyebrow raised now, the urgent challenge clear in every curve of his body. One question. Anything Adam wanted to know about the Lynch family. If his current story wasn’t the opportunity of a lifetime, this certainly was.

            “Ever kill anyone?”

            Mr. Lynch laughed. “Yes,” he said, “because I would tell you that.”

            Adam stared at him, unable to remove his eyes from the man’s face. A thousand other questions now rushed into place of the first one, the obvious one, the one everyone wanted to know about the Lynch brothers. He should have asked if either of them intended to get married, if they thought there was a place for them in proper society, what had really happened to their father. All the papers had called it a random shooting, unsolvable, but there had to be more to it than that when it came to the Lynches.

            The moment was gone though. Mr. Lynch had stood, snubbed out his cigar, and was readying himself to go back upstairs. Gansey came down the hall, his sister at his side. She was tall, gorgeous, imposing in any room, and, if it weren’t for the stiffness of her posture and gait, for the easy way she laughed and threw herself around, she would have married in an instant. As it was, she was too headstrong even for her last name to get her a suitable partner. Not that many hadn’t proposed, she just rejected all of them as quietly as a woman in her position could.

            “Mr. Parrish,” she said. Her voice was rough and deep, at odds with the forced curves under her lilac dress. “A pleasure. Let me show you the house, the grounds, and introduce you to the Czerny’s. I’m sure Elizabeth will be dying to talk to you about the potential flower arrangements.” She smiled politely and then shot a glance towards Mr. Lynch’s disappearing form. “I apologize for taking so long to greet you. I know Mr. Lynch is not the best of company.”

            “Neither am I, miss,” Adam said with a smile.

            She laughed, he offered his arm, and she led him through the house.


	6. Chapter 6

Engagement parties were all the same. All the relatives came, all the best families, the girls stood around and took compliments, and the men walked from person to person, refreshing drinks and pretending to care about the decorations, the impending marriage, or anything at all.

            Luckily, Gansey was first class at all these things. Ronan watched him walk from person to person, exchanging empty glasses for full ones and pleasantries for niceties. Only a trained eye could see the anger that lingered under the surface, the tenseness of Gansey’s hands, the strain on the corners of his smile, and the edge to his voice, making it slightly deeper than it would have been otherwise.

            But watching Gansey got boring faster than Ronan would have anticipated. He nursed his scotch, leaned back against an empty table, and searched the party for someone, anyone, worthy of his time. His eyes caught on the reporter, Mr. Parrish, standing off to the side, trying his best to stay invisible while memorizing every snippet of conversation that he heard. Mr. Parrish watched Gansey as well, while also sparing glances at Elizabeth Czerny, who was the bell of the ball. Her gown was bright yellow, her hair matched with golden curls, and her laughter lit up the Gansey’s dark ballroom.

            Ronan’s examination of the bride-to-be only took with eyes from Mr. Parrish for a second. Then he was back to looking at the soft curl of the man’s brown hair and the way his intelligent eyes darted through the crowd, trying to make sure no one was watching him, that no one knew he was there. Ronan could relate, but for different reasons.

            “Watch yourself,” Gansey said. Ronan glanced towards him and saw his eyes were also on Mr. Parrish. Then his hazel eyes shot their warning his way, the disapproval crystal clear.

            Something dark curled in Ronan’s chest, shame, hot under the judgement of Gansey’s eyes. But he simply shrugged and said, “God has forgiven me for my sins and He will forgive me again.”

            “Not if he senses your insincerity,” Gansey said. But he dropped the subject to pick up Ronan’s empty glass and said, “Think you could distract him?”

            “Thought you wanted me to _watch myself_.”

            Gansey levelled his gaze, turned the scotch glass over in his hand. “Do, please, but if you must sin, then at least speak to him long enough that I can step out for a minute.”

            “Why? What are you going to do?”

            “Better if you don’t know,” he said.

            Ronan watched Gansey walk off, his glass in hand. Gansey stepped towards the refreshments before he glanced back at Ronan who, with an obvious dramatic sigh, started towards Mr. Parrish. He leaned against the wall beside him, surprised to be invisible to the man for a moment, and then said, “Bored yet?”

            Mr. Parrish startled, his blue eyes darted around like an animal caught suddenly in a trap. Then he landed on Ronan’s face and softened, slightly, every inch of him still on high alert. It was easy to see his muscles tense under his cheap, tight suit. He straightened even though he was already straight as a board, pressed against the wall, trying to disappear into the paisley wallpaper.

            “Mr. Lynch,” he said. He swallowed his own voice, higher than it had been in the hallway. After a moment, he settled, and said, “This party is quite exciting, I’m happy to be here.”

            “Please don’t lie to me, Parrish,” Ronan said. He let his head loll back against the wall and saw Mr. Parrish’s eyes skitter down the curve of his neck. Interesting, but not his reason for being there. “This is dull as a parliamentary debate.”

            “I quite like debates.”

            Ronan stared at him, tried to find the lie in the man’s calm demeanor. But, no, he really was that boring. He could feel his interest diminishing and he licked his lips. “About that secret,” he said, “do you think Miss Czerny knows?”

            “Knows?”

            “Please stop. I hate dishonesty.”

            Mr. Parrish exhaled a puff of air that was something like a laugh. An edge met Ronan’s smile and Mr. Parrish cleared his throat quickly, apologized. He straightened himself again and, in the process, shifted a little further from Ronan. “I believe Miss Czerny is in the dark,” he said. His gaze measured the distance between them, like he thought there was a certain distance that Ronan couldn’t strike from. “But that will only serve to more easily keep the younger Mr. Gansey in line.” His blue eyes darted around the room then, looking for Gansey.

            “Ask me a question,” Ronan said.

            Those eyes were back on him in an instant. “Excuse me?”

            “You wasted your first one,” he said, “I’m telling you to try again. Prove you have even an inch of a backbone, Mr. Parrish.”

            Mr. Parrish’s Adam’s apple bobbed and he stopped blinking for a solid minute. Not that Ronan could blame him; it was hard to be faced with a Lynch brother, especially one as dashing as himself. He prepared himself for another stupid question, something else about the family business or lack thereof, something else he couldn’t answer. But then Mr. Parrish said, “What happened to your father?”

            “Excuse me?” Ronan asked.

            Mr. Parrish swallowed. Ronan could see the man almost lose his nerve, almost slip out of reporter mode. The look was good on him, the curious hard-hitter with the big questions. It just didn’t seem to fit inside of his tiny suit. “Your father. Niall Lynch. What happened to him?”

            Ronan blinked. “What did the papers say?”

            “A random shooting at the intersection of Albany and Seaport.”

            “Then that’s what happened.”

            “You believe that?”

            “Do you?”

            Mr. Parrish met his eyes for one second, his blue eyes alive with confusion and an odd trip of power. He shook his head. “No, Mr. Lynch, I don’t. I think with a family like yours, a family with connections, no shooting would be random. And I think that if you knew who did the shooting, there would be another dead body somewhere for the police to find and more money changing hands to say it was ‘random’ again.”

            Ronan stared at him and waited for him to lose his nerve. But that moment didn’t come. After the speech, he was confident in his silence. Ronan said, “Maybe you do have a future as a reporter.”

            “Then what happened to your father?”

            “If you find out, tell me,” Ronan said. There was a clatter across the room and he glanced away from Mr. Parrish to watch Gansey move to the centre of the room. “In the meantime, you have other things to worry about.”

            “Excuse me?”

            “You’re about to be fired.”


	7. Chapter 7

Adam followed Mr. Lynch’s gaze to the centre of the room where Gansey banged a fork against his champagne flute for attention. He spread his arms in welcome of all who turned to him and said, “I would like to take this opportunity to thank you all for coming to my engagement party. It is most kind of you to come to share your well wishes for me and my future bride.”

            Perhaps it was Mr. Lynch’s words that made his stomach curl, because not much else made sense. The words were kind, exactly what was expected of Gansey in the moment. But Mr. Lynch knew the man better than he did, and if he thought Gansey was about to get him fired, Adam trusted him in that, at least.

            He reached for his notebook, ready to hear Gansey announce that his engagement was a fraud. Ready for a scandal. That was what he had been told to prepare for in the first place, but now his heart nearly beat out of his chest at the thought of it. He knew nothing about scandal or how the Gansey’s dealt with their personal business. He had no idea how anyone in the room would react to the announcement that the Gansey-Czerny engagement was a fraud.

            “You have all, of course, had the pleasure of meeting my lovely fiancé, Miss Elizabeth Czerny,” Gansey said, his smile still easy on his lips. Adam glanced at Mr. Lynch, who seemed confused by his friend’s calm manner. Gansey reached out an arm to welcome Miss Czerny into the circle and she stepped forward, red as a rose, and curtsied awkwardly as she met him in the centre. He wrapped his arm comfortably around her waist, as if he did it all the time. He never even looked down, just knew how to hold her, where to hold her, by instinct. “She is, truly, the most beautiful woman in this room, and I cannot believe my luck that she accepted my proposal.”

            A _tap-tap_ sound broke Adam’s enchantment with the holier-than-thou couple. His eyes flickered down to Mr. Lynch’s leather shoe against the marble floor. “You were wrong,” Adam whispered.

            Mr. Lynch looked his way, blue eyes poisonous. “I’m never wrong.”

            “Miss Czerny and I have been friends since... well, since before either of us could walk,” Gansey continued. He smiled at her, like she was the light of his life. Adam almost believed the show, did believe it, and felt a pang in his stomach for Blue. But only days before, this man, the man declaring his love for Miss Czerny, had lashed out at the idea of the sham. The two people didn’t seem the same. Surely Gansey’s family didn’t have that much power over him. “We have grown together, dined together, fallen in love. This is an engagement linking two of the oldest bloodlines in this town and for that, we should all be grateful.”

            There was a light smattering of applause, which Adam joined in on. He noted that Mr. Lynch did not; he simply kept tapping his foot. In the middle of it, he asked, “What happened to Helen?”

            “Excuse me?”

            “Helen,” Mr. Lynch repeated, as if he were slow. “She was supposed to be showing you around?”

            “She ducked out. Something about flower arrangements.”

            Mr. Lynch snorted and it was clear to see that now his eyes were elsewhere, on another man in the crowd. A man in a grey suit, larger than life, with the same sharp jaw and keen eyes, Declan Lynch, the patriarch of the family now that Niall was gone.

            “However,” Gansey said, his voice dipping. Adam looked for Mr. and Mrs. Gansey in the crowd. Neither of them seemed concerned for what their son was about to say, but out of the corner of his eyes, Adam saw Mr. Lynch’s mouth curl into a smirk. “Both of us agree that we are not meant to be.” Several gasps released around the room and Gansey waited patiently for them to subside. “Our parents had the best of intentions in matching us, but we both believe a marriage should be more than a business transaction. We love each other as siblings might, but not as husband and wife should. Therefore, we regret to inform you, that you have been brought here to celebrate an engagement that has been broken.”

            Adam waited for more to come, but it didn’t. Everyone in the crowd stared and Gansey and Miss Czerny looked back at them with chilling smiles. The ease with which they lied to this many people shook Adam but he said nothing. He thought Gansey had done quite the job of spinning the story himself, no help from Adam needed.

            Mr. Lynch clapped him on the shoulder, his long fingers pressing too hard into his skin. “That’s it for you then,” he said.

            Adam blinked. “There’s little I could have done about that.”

            “Wait for it.”

            Gansey slipped his arm from around Miss Czerny and clapped his hands together. “Now that that small issue has been cleared up, I wish to announce my engagement to the woman I love, my one true love.” He paused and his eyes settled on his parents, both frozen in place. “Miss Blue Sargent. Darling, would you join me for a moment?”

            He extended his arm to the crowd and Adam felt his heart stop. He was suddenly glad for Mr. Lynch’s grip on his shoulder, otherwise he might have fallen down. The crowd of people parted to reveal Blue, dressed to the nine’s in a ball gown the colour of her name, clear as the sky. Her hair was braided into an intricate updo, a corset laced tight around her waist, blue eyes fire in the heavily sophisticated, conservative room.

            Gansey’s hand wrapped around hers and the roughness of her skin, well concealed by make-up and carefully chosen colours, was instantly clear. Her fingers were callused sandpaper to Gansey’s porcelain. But no one said a thing, no one gasped, no one muttered. He was still a Gansey, this was still his house, and his smile was still in place, intact, never faltering.

            “Miss Sargent,” Gansey said, the words a prayer on his lips. “Is there anything you wish to say to these fine people?”

            She smiled, her lips curling in a manner so unlike her. Her posture was so impeccable that a book could balance on her head. For a moment, Adam believed this was a different Blue Sargent, a different woman than the one he had known. But, no. Her eyes were unforgettable, the way she commanded a room unique to her. Politics and the cushion of the Gansey name could not hide her. “It is lovely to meet you all,” she said and curtsied deeply.

            Mr. Lynch squeezed Adam’s shoulder again. “Don’t worry, Mr. Parrish. I’ll buy you a new suit for your interviews.”


	8. Chapter 8

How the turmoil of the last night ended with Ronan sitting in the back of a tailor’s room watching a tape measure roll down the length of Mr. Parrish’s leg, he wished he could say he had no idea. And as much as he wished for the return of the man’s old suit, tweed too tight against his skin, he knew he needed something better if he was going to be around the Gansey family ever again.

            Still he relished the memory of Mrs. Gansey clearing out the ball room as quickly and politely as possible. He liked standing beside Mr. Parrish, watching a scandal unfold like a balloon, waiting for it to pop. Gansey stood still in the middle of all the movement, his hand tight around Blue’s, and waited for the explosion. The explosion that never came. Because the Gansey’s didn’t do surprises and they didn’t do scandals; they kept everything under their belts and took control of every situation. It was truly frightening to witness.

            Mr. Parrish hadn’t gotten fired. He needed to write a wedding announcement, a new one. He needed to write about the engagement party and the introduction of Blue. He needed to sit down with her, learn about her, and mold her into the picture perfect bride that the Gansey name demanded. Truly, he had his work cut out for him so, if he was going to fail, the least he could do was fail in a nice suit.

            A nice suit that he refused to let Ronan pay for. On one hand, Ronan admired the man’s principles, but on the other, he wished for a slicker fabric, a blacker colour to lie against Mr. Parrish’s tan skin. He wished he could convince him to buy a new shirt too, one in green maybe, or a nice light blue, but he knew he’d never convince the reporter to spend money on something he already had. The suit had been hard enough and managed mostly through the shock of Gansey’s announcement.

            “Mr. Lynch,” Mr. Parrish said. Ronan raised his eyes from the hem of Mr. Parrish’s pants to meet his eyes in the mirror. “Tell me, what do you know about your father’s death?”

            “Excuse me?”

            Mr. Parrish shrugged, apologized when the tailor scolded him. He met Ronan’s eyes delicately, like one might look a snake in the eye. “The story, Mr. Gansey and Miss Sargent, it won’t go well. And I figure I might as well get started on another story now, so I’ll have something to bring to another paper when I’m let go.”

            “And you want that story to be about my father? About the Lynch family mob connections?” Ronan scoffed. “You must think me a fool.”

            “Nothing about the mob,” Mr. Parrish said. “Just about your father’s death and finding the truth. Certainly you would like to know.”

            Ronan watched him in the mirror. It was odd, the contrast between the man’s ease in shying away and his steadiness when he found what he wanted. Maybe there was a reporter in the spineless fool somewhere. “I would,” Ronan said, “but I know nothing of importance. Only that my father was shot twice; once in the head and once in the heart.”

            “A mob hit.”

            Ronan said nothing, scanned Mr. Parrish’s blue eyes.

            “The Russians?”

            Ronan shook his head. “I’ve spoken with Kavinsky. He says it wasn’t them.”

            “And you trust him?”

            A sharp exhale, Ronan let his eyes drop from Mr. Parrish’s. The tailor had moved on to his suit jacket and was smoothing the fabric over his shoulders, making it tight, then loose. Mr. Parrish squirmed under the attention, unused to hands on him, no matter how soft or careful.

            “Let’s just say there aren’t many men who lie when in the position Kavinsky was in,” Ronan replied. He bit his bottom lip as fabric tightened around Mr. Parrish’s hips.

            “I know plenty of men who would lie at gunpoint,” Mr. Parrish said.

            Ronan pretended that’s what he meant. “Would you like to go ask him yourself?”

            “I would.”

            Ronan laughed, but stopped abruptly when he met Mr. Parrish’s eyes. “You can’t be serious. You want to sit down to an interview with a Russian hit man?”

            “I’m getting a suit tailored with an Irish one right now.”

            Ronan scoffed. He watched the tailor draw chalk lines down the black fabric, watched Mr. Parrish’s struggle to stay still. “Fine,” he said. “We can go speak to Kavinsky about his possible involvement in my father’s death. But, if we do, there are some ground rules to cover first.”

            “Such as?”

            “It’s at my discretion what is on the record and what is off.”

            Mr. Parrish was silent a moment as the tailor pulled the lined jacket off his arms. Then he said, “All right. Anything else, Mr. Lynch?”

            “You stop calling me that,” he said. “It’s Ronan or just Lynch, no mister.”

            Mr. Parrish inclined his head. “Adam, then.”

            Ronan nodded once, then turned to the tailor, “I’m going to need you to hurry. Mr. Kavinsky is hard to find after four.”


	9. Chapter 9

The depths of downtown were worse than Adam could have ever imagined. Ronan walked at a brisk pace, confident in every step he took, the tails of his coat flying out behind him. He hardly glanced at the buildings he passed, just kept his eyes forward. The only time he looked away from his feet and the pavement was when he glanced back to be sure Adam kept up with him.

            Adam drank in the sights, the vagrants on the streets, the battered store fronts, the drunks being thrown out in the middle of the afternoon. Tipsy revellers sang songs on the corners of the narrow roads and jumped back whenever a carriage passed. Sometimes they threw things after them, glass smashing against the wheels or the windows.

            The Russian part of town had no clear difference from the Irish, other than that the names of the bars stopped having O’s in front of them. A few people spit at Ronan’s feet as he passed, but the man simply smiled back at them, poison, a snake ready to strike. The worst that followed were a few grumbled swears, maybe an outright declaration of hatred for the “damned Irish,” but no one touched him. He was royalty even down in the barrels of society on the side of town dedicated to hating people like him.

            He finally stopped at a bar with blacked out windows and faded golden letters over the door, impossible to read. A sign on the door claimed it was closed, but Ronan pushed the door open and Adam scrambled after him, barely catching the door in time not to get hit with it.

            A long corridor of stools greeted him, the lights low, the sunlight shut out. Two bar stools were toppled, tied together on the ground. No one was behind the bar, but there was a young man sitting near the end of it, bent over a leather book, making notes in a ledger. He didn’t look up at their entrance, no bell to alert him of their presence. Ronan said nothing, just approached, and Adam followed his lead.

            Ronan banged his hand down on the bar next to the book and the man’s eyes flickered from the book, to Ronan’s hand, up the length of his arm. His eyes were dark, but surprisingly innocent. A starved boy, easily mistaken for a vagrant, if it weren’t for the way his smile curled over his lips like a blade.

            “What a surprise, Mr. Lynch,” he said, his accent thick. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

            Ronan said, “Mr. Parrish wishes to speak to you.”

            Kavinsky’s eyes peeled off of Ronan and glanced towards Adam. Adam tried his best to look strong, intimidating, worthy of being in the bar. Kavinsky clicked his tongue. “Oh, Lynch, you know I don’t like it when you bring your friends along.”

            “Mr. Parrish is a reporter.”

            “Gansey has his dogs making sure you keep out of trouble too, now?” Kavinsky asked. He glanced at Adam again, softening. That is, softening as much as the eyes of a hardened criminal could. He closed the leather book on the bar and shifted it further from the two of them. “Should I make him flee?” His eyes shot back to Ronan’s, his smile mischievous and crooked.

            It took a moment for Ronan to reply. “No.” The word sounded like disappointment on his lips and Adam tried not to let that sting.

            “Then why are you here?” Kavinsky asked.

            “He wishes to ask you some questions about my father’s death.”

            Kavinsky raised an eyebrow and looked towards Adam. He sized him up quickly, dismissed him with a flick of his hand. “All right, kid,” he said. “Ask away. Just remember I usually have to kill the people that I tell the truth to.”

            Adam swallowed, fumbled for a notebook. He pulled out paper and a pen and cleared his throat. He forgot to apologize, but he doubted Kavinsky cared too much about his manners. “Mr. Kavinsky,” he said. His voice cracked, high and Kavinsky laughed at him. He shot his eyes to Ronan as he did, expected him to laugh too. “Mr. Kavinsky. Were you involved in the death of Niall Lynch?”

            “No.”

            “Was anyone in your family involved?”

            “No.”

            “Were any Russians—”

            “My god, where’d you find this goddamn amateur?” Kavinsky asked. He looked at Ronan accusingly, as if this tremendous waste of his precious time was all his fault, as if he were disappointed in the other man. “Please tell me I can get rid of him now.”

            Ronan said nothing. Adam asked, “Were any Russians involved?”

            “No,” Kavinsky spat. Dark eyes like spiders, he looked Adam up and down again. “This. This is what you choose to drag around with you, Lynch? He’s not even worth a second look at.”

            “K,” Ronan said. His voice was soft, soft enough to show the true difference between a man like him and a man like Kavinsky. But still it held steel to it, a warning. A warning of what, Adam had no idea. “Just answer the goddamn questions.”

            “I know nothing about how Niall Lynch bit it.”

            “How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Adam asked.

            Kavinsky sighed. “I lie to reporters all the time. Rarely do I lie to men in a position to bite me somewhere precious.”

            Adam stared at him, uncomprehending. Or, if his brain managed to catch up to the words, it dismissed the image too quickly to understand. Ronan cleared his throat and straightened his coat. “Anything else, Mr. Parrish?” Ronan prompted, his blue eyes gentle on the side of Adam’s face.

            Adam shook his head.

            “We’ll take our leave then. You were a lovely host, as always, Kavinsky.”

            Kavinsky tipped an imaginary hat in their direction and then went back to his book. Ronan started away from him and Adam followed, his heart in his throat. His brain whirled trying to keep up with what he had just witnessed. It settled finally on going over the interview and Kavinsky’s answers. Or, more accurately, his one answer.

            “Now do you believe him?” Ronan asked, once they stepped onto the sidewalk.

            “No,” Adam said. He met Ronan’s eyes. “A man like that? I’d never trust a word he said.”

            “A good rule of thumb,” Ronan agreed. Then he started off down the street and Adam scrambled after him.


	10. Chapter 10

Ronan got home late that night. After dropping Adam off back at his apartment, if one could call it an apartment, he spent some time in a bar and some more time in a brothel before taking the carriage home. He tipped his driver when he got out, something he only did after going to the brothel, to make sure the man kept his mouth shut and said nothing to his brother.

            The door to the Lynch townhouse creaked on its hinges and no amount of oil would fix that. Ronan had a theory that it was the wood that did the door in, splintering whenever anyone touched it, ready to break the moment someone used more than light pressure on it. But, even if the door was silent, the floorboard right behind it squealed with any added weight, the carpet over it doing nothing to muffle the sound.

            Ronan threw his keys on the hall table and turned the locks of the door behind him. The steady shot of their bolts shook through him, calmed his nerves a little. His fingers shook, alcohol strong in his veins, and he curled his hands into fists before stepping further into the house.

            He intended to go straight to bed. The stairs to the second floor were in the kitchen, the main ones knocked out when his father tried to make room for a grand piano on the first floor. The servants’ stairs were cramped and narrow but good for steadying oneself against when drunk. Ronan found their enclosure a comfort on nights like this, when midnight was well past and he was the most powerful name on the street.

            Unfortunately, the removal of the main stairs meant that he had to pass Declan’s office to get upstairs and tonight Declan’s door was open. Candlelight flickered through the crack and Ronan knew his brother had waited up for him, ready with some admonishment or plan that Ronan was too tired to ignore. He could try to pass the door in silence and get upstairs, but Declan would’ve heard the locks and it would be only a matter of moments before he called Ronan into his office. Strange how easily the place had become his when it had been their father’s just six months earlier.

            Ronan headed towards the open door and laid a lazy knock against the wood. This door was solid, new even. It had been broken down in a robbery their father had never reported over a year ago and the new door shone, varnished oak, the newest thing in the whole three story structure.

            “Ronan,” Declan said. He didn’t look up from the desk, his eyes scanning various papers. Ronan’s mind reeled back to that afternoon with Kavinsky and he wondered absently if he should have gone back to the bar rather than heading out to a brothel and spending good money. Of course, Kavinsky would have stolen his money, so the cost was less with a whore than a Russian. Declan flipped a page and looked up at his brother, eyes tired, premature wrinkles across his forehead. “Sit.”

            The chair he gestured towards was burgundy leather. It sat, pompous, atop four black legs that looked incapable of holding the weight of its ego. Ronan laid a palm flat against its back, the leather smooth against his hand, and steadied himself. “Say what you must,” he said. “And be quick. I’d prefer to be asleep before that candle burns out.”

            Declan’s eyes flicked to the candle in question. The wick was at its wit’s end, the wax dripped ivory off the small glass plate beneath it and onto the cherry desk. The broad candle had less than an inch left, but would burn for hours more before stuttering out.

            “It’s about the Gansey’s,” Declan said.

            “You know I prefer when you don’t speak of them.”

            “More accurately it’s about the Czerny’s.”

            Ronan’s eyes narrowed. He tried to get his brain to follow his brother’s twisted train of thought, but nothing came to mind. He slumped into the chair and said, “I know very little of them.”

            “You’ve met Noah’s daughter though? Elizabeth?”

            Ronan nodded.

            “What would you think of marrying her?”

            One eyebrow raised was all the reaction that Ronan could muster. His heart felt dull in his chest, heavy with the weight of the evening. He rubbed two fingers together across his eyes. Declan went back to the papers before him, making two notes on the pages before looking up at his brother again, expectant.

            “Marry my friend’s ex-fiancé?” Ronan asked, deadpan. He hoped mundane questions would keep his brother occupied long enough that his addled brain could catch up with the conversation. “Certainly that’s improper.”

            “You wouldn’t announce immediately, of course,” Declan said. “But it’s no secret that Noah Czerny has been thrown by the broken engagement. He thought his daughter was off the market and said as much to all other bachelors after her hand. Now he’s desperate to get her married and he has no one to hand her off to. I suggest we swoop in and save the day. Offer your hand. We may not be the best option, but the Lynch name is nothing to scoff at.”

            “And the Czerny bloodline will give you more pull to legitimatize the family business.”

            Declan’s lips made a thin line. “A marriage is supposed to be advantageous, Ronan. Don’t tell me that Mr. Gansey has you thinking about true love too.”

            “No, I can’t say he does.”

            Declan nodded. “Then you know it’s your duty to this family to marry, marry well, and beget heirs. It may not matter what you do in your spare time as long as you keep the bloodline intact.”

            Ronan tried not to hear the threat in his brother’s words, but he found nothing else in his tone to hear. He nodded. “Fine.”

            “Elizabeth Czerny is no one to scoff at. You might—” Declan cut himself off and looked up at his brother. His pen stopped halfway across a page of thick paper and trembled. “What did you say?”

            “I said fine. I’ll speak to Mr. Czerny as soon as I get the chance.”

            “ _I_ will speak to Mr. Czerny,” Declan said, immediately back in control of the situation. He narrowed his eyes though, suspicious. “You have no negative feelings towards this match? You’re not planning to make a scene at the engagement party like your friend did?”

            Ronan shook his head. He was unsurprised to find that he had no feelings about the match at all. His brain had caught up with the conversation and maybe the alcohol muddled the blow but what his brother suggested had merit. Elizabeth Czerny would make a fine wife, a proper wife, and she was an easier, more proper woman than Ronan had expected to end up married to. If it kept him in money and in Declan’s good graces, he had little complaint.

            “You can go sleep off your hangover then,” he said.

            Ronan stood and the room spun around him. He managed not to use anything near as a crutch, but got a view of everything in the room for one miraculous second. The floor to ceiling green curtains, the dusty books on the shelves, the massive drawers of the cherry desk his brother sat at. Candle flames blurred everything, but Ronan still knew what was so important about this room.

            “Are any of dad’s books still here?” he asked.

            Declan didn’t look up. “All of these are his books.”

            “His business books.”

            “Ronan.” His name was a warning, always a warning when Declan uttered it. But Ronan didn’t pull his eyes from the stacks of books lining the walls of the small room. “I’ve told you several times not to get involved in dad’s business. It’s my business now and I’m taking it in a very different direction. By the time you’re old enough to participate, whatever dad may have done will be of no importance to you or anyone else.”

            Ronan licked his bottom lip, nodded. “I just thought it might be nice to have something he wrote. Did he keep notes anywhere?”

            “You know dad,” Declan said. “He kept all his notes in his head.” He made a few more marks in the book in front of him and Ronan stepped towards the door, sure the conversation had ended. Then he heard his brother mutter, “Or in his whore’s pocket.”

            Those words were enough to give Ronan another lead.


	11. Chapter 11

It had been a long time since Adam had set foot in the Sargent’s shop. The bell chimed as he pushed open the door but the main room was empty, despite a sign claiming that they were open. Dusty light streamed in through the front window, but the space was still dark, always dark so that the candles could work their magic when lit.

            Adam lingered in the doorway, his eyes hitting upon several bottled potions and a table strewn with tarot cards. He itched to step back out onto the street but forced himself to stop. He was there to do his job. Certainly no one could fault him for that.

            “Miss Sargent?” he called. His voice was surprisingly steady on her name. He took one step into the room. “Miss Sargent?”

            A bustle of boxes sounded in the back and a plump woman walked into the room. She headed straight through the beads with no regard for them and settled her heavy gaze on Adam. Adam swallowed. Maura said, “Mr. Parrish. It’s been a while.”

            “It has,” he agreed. “How have you been, ma’am?”

            “Well.” She stared at him with dark eyes, her still figure imposing in the shadows, though it was also imposing in the light. Without another word, she headed for the table at the centre of the room and sat down. She gestured to the seat across from her, waited patiently for Adam to sit. “Shuffle these.”

            Adam took the collected cards and did as he was told. He handed the cards back to Maura and she hesitated, one hand poised to pick ten. She placed the cards back in the centre of the table and spread all of them across the table. “Pick two,” she said.

            “Not a spread?”

            “We don’t have time.”

            He knew better than to ask Maura what she meant. Right hand out, he swept his arm over the cards, focussed on the feel of them under his skin. His fingers buzzed with sleepless energy, like he had sat on them for too long. Finally he picked two cards, right next to each other, and handed them to Maura without turning them over. She did that for him. The Lovers and The Devil.

            “I’m cursed to be unhappy?” Adam guessed. He’d spent enough time in the shop, recently and as a child, to have picked up on most of the cards’ meanings. “Or simply my next relationship will be unhappy?”

            Maura did not answer him. Her eyes were vacant and for a moment he thought he had lost her to a vision. Then her fingers, wrinkled with age and covered with rings, touched the two cards together. “The angel blesses the couple and the devil condemns them,” she said. “Which did you pick first?”

            “The left. My left.”

            “The Devil.”

            Adam nodded, but she wasn’t looking at him. She shifted all of her fingers to The Devil card and focussed her energy on it. Then she turned it over. “I feel that you have something ahead of you, something that will shock you. And I feel it may be only minimally related to the love coming into your life.”

            “You think I will have love in my life?”

            Maura inclined her head and then flipped over the second card as well. She gathered all the cards on the table and stood just as Blue entered the room. Adam stood as well, buttoned his vest as he did. Blue looked between them, her steps slowed, and she said, “What are the two of you doing?”

            “Miss Sargent,” Adam said, relieved to once again be able to put his professional face on, even if Blue gave him a scathing look for using her last name. “Mr. Gansey perhaps informed you that his family would be sending over a reporter to interview you? To ask questions and make sure you’re an appropriate addition to the family.”

            “Yes, Mr. Gansey did tell me that,” she replied, her voice measured. She crossed her arms over her chest, pressing thin blue scarves to her skin. “May I assume that that reporter is you?”

            “You may.”

            He waited for her to refuse, to kick him out. He waited for her to react at all, to say she would call Gansey and arrange a change in reporters. But he was unsurprised when she smiled, because with Blue what you didn’t expect should’ve been what you expected all along.

            “Did you really need to come then?” she asked. “Certainly you know all there is to know about me.” She took her mother’s vacated seat and waved her from the room. Adam sat back down. “What could you possibly ask that you don’t already know?”

            Adam smiled. “I’m to report on your sophistication, the artistry of your words, and your good upbringing. I can’t hand in a story about Miss Blue Sargent, the daughter of a psychic and an immigrant to the states.”

            “The Gansey’s are immigrants.”

            “English ones, spanning back too many generations to count,” Adam said.

            Blue shrugged and laid her face in the palms of her hands. Her hair was down, one long braid flung over her shoulder. The weight of it kept her shoulders down, her back slumped. That would have to change if she expected to live in the Gansey mansion, playing by their rules, as the youngest’s wife.

            “Miss Sargent,” he said and cleared his throat. “Apologies. May I hear a little about your schooling?”

            “I was taught here. You know that.”

            Adam tried not to sigh and faked a smile for her sake. He refused to look up at her though, into her eyes. Sitting at the small table, they were very close and there was no chaperone in sight. “I know that, but for the piece, that can’t be your answer.”

            “If all my answers are to be lies, you might as well make them up yourself,” Blue said.

            “I can’t ethically do that.”

            “So instead you’ll just coach me through the lies?”

            Adam shrugged.

            “Adam, would you please look at me.” She reached across the table and the tips of her fingers brushed the back of Adam’s hand. “This is ridiculous.”

            Looking up at her, Adam pulled his hands off the table. He met her steady gaze, the easy pity she put on his shoulders. He itched to snap at her, to brush that look off her face, but he kept his cool. It was his job to be here. He was a reporter, a businessman, one of the Gansey’s many employees, not a shunned ex-fiancé.

            “Miss Sargent—”

            “Would you stop calling me that!”

            “It’d be impolite to call you anything else,” Adam said. “Next question. When and where did you meet Mr. Gansey?”

            “You don’t want to hear that.”

            “Please just answer the question.”

            Blue sighed and tapped her fingers across the grain of the table. “He came in for a reading. It was late, he was out walking the streets and saw the sign... I guess he was curious. My mom was asleep and my aunts were drunk, so I read the cards for him.”

            “And what did the cards say?”

            “What they say for all rich clients,” she said. “Fortune, fame, a name the world will remember. But he didn’t seem happy with that and he didn’t quite believe me either. He knew something about cards and knew I wasn’t telling him the truth.”

            Adam tapped his pen against the table. “I’m sorry, miss, but I can’t use any of this either.”

            “Please stop calling me miss.”

            “Please stop asking me not to.”

            “Adam—”

            “Miss Sargent,” he said. “This has nothing to do with our previous relationship and everything to do with our current one. I work for your betrothed or, rather, for his father. It would be inappropriate for me to call you by your Christian name, especially when we’re in an unchaperoned location.”

            “It’s a public store,” she said, “and I’m not a Christian.”

            “Also not in the article.”

            Blue smiled, the edge of a laugh in her exhale. “What did my mother tell you about your future?”

            “The usual,” Adam said. “Death, travesty, an unhappy life.”

            “I would’ve thought she’d given up on that after we split.”

            Adam smiled. “No, she simply told me I may shock myself and that love was coming my way.”

            “Odd. That’s the second time I’ve seen The Lovers pulled this week.”

            “My match?” Adam joked.

            “I doubt it,” she said. “He seemed to be a little too, well, male.”

            Adam laughed and said, “If I ask you another question, will you answer it in a manner I can actually use in my article?”

            The corners of her lips twitched and she inclined her head. “I can try, Mr. Parrish.”

            “Do you love Mr. Gansey?”

            “Is that really one of your questions?”

            “No,” he said. He dropped the pad in his lap and met her eyes, the sadness in her gaze. “I just want to make sure that if you’re going to do this, that if you insist on being embroiled in a scandal this big, that you’re happy. That you really are in love.”

            “Oh, Adam,” she breathed out. She reached for his hands and this time he let her take them. “I do. I love Gansey with all my heart. And I wish to marry him, old money or not.”


	12. Chapter 12

Ronan followed Gansey back to the psychic shop despite himself. Part of him knew that Gansey was keeping up his image, keeping a chaperone between him and his betrothed at all times, but Ronan thought he barely counted as a chaperone. And certainly he didn’t count when it came to an off the books visit to Gansey’s off the books girlfriend that he’d been meeting with in secret for God knows how long. But perhaps he could appreciate Gansey’s weak attempts to keep his parents happy.

            The chimes on the door rung and the two of them stepped into the store to see a very unlikely sight. Blue sat with her hands wrapped around those of a man whose back was to them. Ronan said, “She’s cheating on you. Lovely. Scandal averted.”

            Blue looked over at the sound of his voice as he hadn’t bothered to lower it. The man turned as well and it was at least a bit of a shock to see Adam Parrish there, his mouth open around an apology he didn’t know how to form. Ronan leaned back against the glass door, flicked his eyes over to Gansey, who was dead calm, the only sign that something might actually be wrong.

            “Blue,” Gansey said, steady, “What is the meaning of this?”

            Blue, for her part, looked not in the least ashamed. Of course, living where she did, like she did, with the people she did, it was no surprise that she was impure and therefore used to entertaining men, whether or not there was a ring on her finger. It wasn’t even her who removed her hands from the embrace, but Adam, the only one of them who had the decency to look embarrassed.

            “I’ll say one thing,” Ronan said. “You both have horrible taste in women.”

            “Yes, because your tastes are much better,” Gansey replied. His voice was sharp and his eyes never left Blue. For a point in her favour, she at least didn’t back down. Maybe a woman with a little backbone was exactly what Gansey needed. Too bad she was a whore. “Blue, Mr. Parrish, I thought you were conducting an interview?”

            “He is,” Blue replied. She crossed her ankles like a proper lady and turned her body towards Gansey. It was a ploy, most likely, to get him to see the smooth curves of her body under her scarves and the sway of her heavy braid over her shoulder. “I am afraid, however, that I’m not the best at being interviewed. Everything I say seems to have a way of ending up wrong for the article.”

            Gansey’s eyes turned from her to Adam. “Mr. Parrish?”

            “I...” Adam stammered over the words, a blush on his cheeks. He cleared his throat and apologized, fumbled to his feet. He waved the pad of paper in his hand, devoid of notes, as if it were some kind of signal that what Blue had said was true. “We were speaking of you, sir. And your relationship and her upbringing, sir. Sir, we just—”

            “We used to be engaged,” Blue said. “He asked if I loved you and I said I did. All you saw was two old friends sharing a moment of comfort, release.”

            Ronan snorted. “Terrible taste,” he muttered.

            This time Blue shot him a glare, but she regained her composure instantly, or perhaps she never lost it. She stood and walked towards Gansey, her hands on his lapel in an instant, smoothing unwrinkled cloth. “Dear, I told you of my broken engagement to an old friend. How it hurt that we grew apart after that. It was a shock to see Adam again, but the shock ended and he simply wished to see that I was happy. Certainly you can blame neither of us for being happy for each other?”

            Gansey looked between the two of them and nodded. His arm curved around Blue’s waist. “Of course not, my dear. I’m glad you and Mr. Parrish get along. I was afraid to send a reporter here, alone, and that’s why I’m here. To make sure that everything is going well and I see now that it is.”

            “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ronan said. He waited for all three pairs of eyes in the room to turn his way. “She’s clearly lying, she’s been lying since she met you. Dick, you know that you are my dearest friend, but I’ve truly never met anyone stupider.”

            Blue’s eyes crackled. “Watch yourself, Mr. Lynch.”

            “Sweetheart, that doesn’t work when Gansey says it and it’s not going to work when you say it.”

            She shook her head. “I can’t believe you turned The Lovers. A person condemned to love such a horrendous pessimist should be pitied.” Her lips pursed as if to spit at him and he raised an eyebrow, welcoming the display of her horrible upbringing. But she stopped herself, her nails digging into the front of Gansey’s jacket, now finally wrinkled, and Ronan thought he’d found the source of her constant need to smooth the fabric on his chest. “Gansey, I’m happy to have you here for the remainder of the interview, but must Mr. Lynch accompany us?”

            “I didn’t want to be here in the first place,” Ronan said.

            “Then why did you come?”

            “Chaperoning.”

            “I’m certain Mr. Parrish can fulfill that duty.”

            Ronan smirked. “After that display earlier, I’m not so sure. After all, the pair of you are dirty commoners and if I know anything about Gansey, it’s that he’s always up for an adventure.”

            “Mr. Lynch,” Gansey snapped. Gansey’s anger was rare, but when it reared its head, Ronan knew well enough that he needed to shut up. His friend’s hazel eyes were a fire to match his betrothed’s ice. “That will be all. You’re dismissed.”

            “I’m not your dog,” Ronan said. “If you wish to dismiss anyone, dismiss Parrish. He might even listen to you if you whistle.”

            “There’s no need to make this ugly.”

            Ronan said nothing, his eyes on Adam. The man stood stock still, his eyes moving between the two of them rhythmically, every muscle in his body tense. His hands were curled into tight fists, his nails dug into his skin. A pang of regret flashed through Ronan, cut too deep to ignore, but too quick to acknowledge.

            “I’m afraid I cannot take my leave,” Ronan said. He made his voice drip with the apology, only Blue catching how heavy he laid on the syrup. “I have business to attend to with Mr. Parrish once he’s finished here. A lead.”

            He watched Adam’s eyes light up and ignored the look Gansey gave him. Those blue eyes, calmer than the girl’s and more alive, were an addiction he hadn’t quite gotten used to. “I’m sure Mr. Lynch can keep quiet until we finish here?” Adam suggested. He looked at Gansey like a child seeking his parent’s permission.

            Gansey shot a look at Ronan. “Can you, Mr. Lynch?”

            Ronan stared back at him, let no words out. He had plenty of course, but he preferred not to wander backwoods streets for hours, waiting for the interview to finish so he could take Parrish towards his next clue. His first clue, really. Kavinsky had been a waste of time and a boring one at that. His brother’s words, _his whore’s pocket_ , echoed in Ronan’s ears.

            After a moment, Gansey nodded and pulled a third chair up to the small table. “Let’s start then.”


	13. Chapter 13

The interview lasted for a tediously long time. Every question Adam asked, he got two answers: Blue’s and Gansey’s. Then the two of them would fall into a whispered discussion, Gansey pulling Blue close and Blue glaring at his touch, shrugging him off as he tried to convince her to take his side. They usually landed somewhere in the middle of their original statements and Adam shifted their words closer to Gansey’s side of things, because he could publish nothing that came out of Blue’s mouth.

            He was exhausted by the time Gansey dismissed him. As he rubbed his eyes, he noticed Ronan followed him to the door and a thrill ran through him. Ronan had a lead on his father’s death, the story that would keep Adam in the business for at least a little longer once Blue slipped and the whole Gansey family flopped down face first.

            “They go quite well together,” Ronan said once they were on the street.

            “I thought you were against their union.”

            “Oh, I am,” he said. “But none of the girls in Gansey’s circles ever seemed to match him quite like she does. And while she’s a wretched wench of a girl, at the very least Gansey seems happy.”

            Adam nodded. “At least until the scandal breaks.”

            Ronan smiled, poison and happiness. “The Gansey’s don’t do scandals. What touches other families doesn’t touch them. They set the rules, make the laws, and everyone else follows in their footsteps. If they manage to spin this right, and they will, I have no doubt the two of them will live happily ever after.”

            Adam couldn’t say he agreed. There were many people who would love to watch the Gansey’s fall and they would most definitely take this opportunity to make it happen. But he kept his mouth shut, not wanting to ruin Ronan’s sudden bright mood after the train wreck he’d witnessed inside the shop.

            “Where are we going?” he asked instead.

            “A brothel.”

            “A...” Adam trailed off, certain he had heard Ronan wrong. “Excuse me, sir?”

            Ronan’s eyes flickered towards him in a manner that wasn’t entirely innocent. Adam tried to swallow the last word he said, but knew it was already out there and Ronan was laughing at him. “A brothel,” he repeated. “Certainly you’ve been to one?”

            “I... I can’t say that I have.”

            Ronan’s eyebrows shot up. “You are aware that you aren’t required to keep yourself as pure as a woman is?”

            “Perhaps I wish to.”

            “Perhaps you haven’t the balls to visit a whore.”

            Adam opened his mouth to respond, but found he had nothing to say in his defence. He felt his cheeks redden as Ronan laughed, the sound bright in the lateness of the night. They walked in silence down several blocks before Ronan stopped before a black carriage, the kind that drove people to funerals, and approached the driver.

            “Sorry that took so long,” he said. “I would’ve sent you home if I’d known.”

            The driver inclined his head. “It’s no issue, sir. Are you headed home now?”

            “Not yet, I’m afraid,” Ronan said. He glanced back over his shoulder to where Adam stood a few feet away. He gestured for Adam to approach and he did, his heart in his throat as he met the steely eyes of the driver. “My friend and I are going to Madam River’s.”

            “Very well,” the driver said. He opened the door to the carriage and waited for Ronan to get in. His grey eyes, gravestones that seemed to have the name _Parrish_ on them, landed on Adam and a chill went through his body. A muttered thank you and he stepped into the carriage, taking a seat across from Ronan.

            Adam settled, a hard task with Ronan’s eyes on him. Striking blue eyes met his and, for a moment, he lost his heart. It had been in his throat with the driver but now it fell to his feet, hollowing his chest. Clearing his throat, he asked, “This, umm, brothel where we’re going. What led you to it?”

            “My father was a man of many words and few notes,” Ronan said. “But if he told anyone in his life anything important, or at least anyone who might talk to us, it’d be his favourite whore over at Madam River’s.”

            “Why?”

            “A prostitute can say nothing of her clients, she’s better than a lawyer in that way. And my father could say little to my mother. She was a simple woman, better kept out of the family business.”

            Adam struggled to find some sort of reply. “She passed, didn’t she?” he asked. Then, when he realized the bluntness of his words, he added, “I’m sorry,” though he didn’t know if he meant for his words or Ronan’s loss. When the other man said nothing, he ventured, “How did she die, if you don’t mind me asking?”

            “The doctors said heartbreak.”

            “Heartbreak.”

            “Yes,” Ronan replied. His eyes went cold, violent in a way Adam hadn’t seen them before. “She couldn’t bear to live without my father so she slit her wrists.”

            Horrified, Adam took a moment to reply. The only thing he could come up with to say was “I’m sorry” again and it was clear Ronan took no comfort in the words. But he had stopped looking at Adam and now stared out the window, into the night. The side of his face was strong, his jaw clenched. The collar of his jacket hid the curl of a tattoo.

            Adam shifted his eyes to the carriage window, watched the streets go by. He was surprised to see the worse neighbourhoods left behind and the good ones come into view. The house the carriage pulled up to was four stories tall, decorated with white lights, and boasted gargoyles with laughing jaws.

            Ronan jumped from the carriage before the driver could open the door. Adam stepped out after him and stumbled on the drop. Ronan’s hand came down, a vice-like grip around his upper arm, and he steadied. “Thank you,” he said. Ronan failed to reply.

            They walked up the steps of the mansion and Ronan rapped the door knocker three times. His lips moved around numbers and he counted, Adam thought, to five before knocking once more. From the porch, music could be heard along with the sounds of laughter. Adam detected no noises of love-making, but he assumed that happened further in the back, far enough into the house so not to be heard if the place was raided or the lady of the house was questioned at her doorstep.

            The doors opened inwards and an old woman with sagging cheeks smiled at Adam. Then she shifted her gaze to Ronan and her smile turned from one of welcome to one of easy friendship. “My dear, you’re drunk again,” she said. “The men are across the street.”

            Ronan managed a tight smile. “My friend and I are actually looking for a woman, Madam Rivers.”

            The Madam glanced back to Adam who tried for a weak smile. Her eyebrows did not move with her expression, painted on along with the rest of her face. She tsked and said, “Is he quite nervous? Your first time, dear?” She left little space for Adam to respond, even if he could have formed the words to do so. “Wants a girl to make it seem more natural?”

            Ronan’s lips had become a line and, once again, Adam saw why people were so afraid of the Lynch brothers. This woman, clearly, did not. “One of your girls,” Ronan said, his voice sharp, “A Marjorie Summers? I hear she’d be up for it.”

            If the Madam noted his tone or that he didn’t deny anything she said, she didn’t show it. She simply stepped back from the door to admit them and said, “I’ll see if she’s available.”

            As soon as she was gone, Adam began, “What was that—”

            Ronan’s eyes met his, sharp as icicles, and Adam swallowed the rest of his question. He looked away quickly, tried to find something in the room that it would be safe to stare at. But between the drunken partygoers on the couches, the girls leaning up against walls with their skin barely covered, and the lewd paintings that adorned the walls, the safest place to look was a mirror across from the doorway. And in that mirror, Adam could see Ronan’s profile perfectly and his vacant gaze as he stared at the girls in the room. Adam settled for his shoes.

            A few minutes later, a woman rushed up to them. Marjorie Summers, Adam deduced. She was pretty enough for a thirty year-old woman, her hair dark curls, her lips lined red, and her body strong if not thin in lace negligee. “Kind sirs,” she said, a smile adorning her lips so broadly that her lipstick cracked. “If you’ll follow me.”

            Ronan started after her without hesitation and Adam found he had no choice but to follow. It was either that or stay in the lobby, close to the kissing, drunk people, and the women’s half-naked bodies. He slowed though, his steps fuzzy on the creaking floorboards, and Marjorie reached back to take his hand to pull him towards her room faster. Her other hand wrapped around Ronan’s and he flinched.

            Marjorie led them into a small room dominated by a queen-sized bed and the gauzy red curtains that covered it. She pushed the curtains aside, dropping their hands, and sat down on the edge of the bed. She swung her legs and the crotchless nature of her outfit revealed itself. Adam looked away, found another mirror, and this time his eyes were the only ones in it.

            “So, how do you like it?” Marjorie asked. “All of us together? Does one of you prefer to watch? Or am I to watch?”

            “I’ll watch,” Ronan said.

            Adam shot him a look, so quick that he forgot he was avoiding the other man’s gaze. Blue eyes sparkled with laughter, a cheap thrill for him to say the words even as the whore now reached for Adam’s waistband. Adam stepped back as her fingers grazed his crotch.

            “Sorry,” Ronan said, sounding anything but. His smile stayed on his lips, still laughing somewhere inside himself. “I’m afraid we’ve come here under false pretenses. Neither of us have much interest in your body.”

            “A shame,” she said, her eyes still on Adam. Adam shifted under her gaze, unused to chocolate eyes on his skin. “What do you want from me, then? I have to tell you that Madam Rivers won’t take kindly to you beating me, even if you are a regular at her other house.”

            “We’re looking for information my father might have given to you while in your bed,” Ronan said.

            “Your father?”

            “Niall Lynch.”

            Marjorie stared back at them blankly.

            “Please don’t pretend you don’t know him,” Ronan said, his voice tired.

            “Many men don’t give me their names,” she replied. “For instance, I have no idea who the two of you are. Madam Rivers says she’s known you for years and never managed even a pseudonym.”

            A smirk slipped across Ronan’s lips. “She knows perfectly well who I am, as I am sure you do as well. Now in less you wish to find out exactly how kindly or unkindly Madam Rivers would take to my friend here beating you, I suggest you drop the act and tell me what my father said to you.”

            “Your father was never much of a talker,” she said, faster than Adam could voice his outrage at being diminished to a thug. But the words had made his fists curl and he knew it had been the right move. Now the whore was talking, at least. “He liked his lips elsewhere.”

            Adam tried to shake the image and couldn’t.

            “He must have said something to you at some point in time,” Ronan insisted. “Anything about the family business or another man?”

            “He’s not the Lynch interested in men.”

            Now Ronan’s fists curled, a motion that looked odd on him. Dressed impeccably, every inch of him sharply delicate, he looked as if swinging a punch would be more likely to hurt him than anyone on the receiving end of the action. He grinded his teeth, the sound audible even though the music still pounded through the room, shook the floorboards and the walls. Adam reached out to touch Ronan’s arm, felt the muscles relax under his fingers.

            Ronan licked his bottom lip, a quick motion, then shook Adam off. “Tell me anything he said to you that might have had something to do with his death.”

            “He told me nothing,” Marjorie said. “He said little, he did little, and, to be quite frank, he was bad in bed.”

            “Did he give you anything?” Ronan demanded.

            Adam itched to reach out for him again. A little voice in his head told him this was Ronan losing control, this was the side of the Lynches that he had heard rumours about. And he knew that the soft touch of his fingers could release at least a little of that tension, even for a second, and that might spare the whore in front of them from some sort of punishment. But he held himself back, knowing it would also give her more ammunition.

            “A locket,” she said.

            “I want it.”

            “It’s mine.”

            “It was my father’s property and if you don’t give it to me, I’ll tell the police you’ve stolen it and come back with the constable himself.”

            “If you do he’ll shut this place down as well as the one across the road,” she snapped. “What will you do for kicks then? Your bodyguard any good on his knees?”

            The edge of a laugh reached Ronan’s breath and his fists uncurled. He extended one hand, palm up, and said, “Locket. Now.”

            She glared at him, chocolate eyes hardened to a bitter dark. Shifting over to her nightstand, she pulled open the drawer and rummaged through it. The chains of countless necklaces glittered from the depths of the drawers but she found the locket in question quickly. She tossed it at Ronan and hit him square in the chest, the locket pooling in his palm as he reached for it.

            “Go. Now,” she said.

            Ronan turned from the room and Adam hurried after him, not sure if he was more afraid of the whore or the look in Ronan’s eyes. He heard the hard steps of his friend, watched the tight set of his shoulders, and was relieved when they emerged into the cold night. Ronan’s breath billowed white, like a raincloud over his head. His driver called, “Back home now, sir?”

            “Not yet,” Ronan said. “I need a drink.”


	14. Chapter 14

Ronan had considered dropping Adam off before heading out to the bar. But the truth of the matter was, he didn’t quite trust himself to be alone at the moment. He was likely to either ram his fist through a wall or through someone’s face, and as a general rule Declan was against bailing him out of jail after midnight.

            They dropped into a booth at an Irish pub quite close to the Lynch house. Ronan ordered two Irish Car Bombs and said nothing else, not to the bartender and not to Adam. He kept his eyes on the black table in front of him, followed the grains of the wood over its surface, looking for patterns where none existed.

            After a few moments of tense silence, Adam said, “Can I see the locket?”

            “Excuse me?”

            “The locket,” Adam repeated, his confidence faltering. Ronan met his blue eyes, thin as water. “Can I see it?”

            Ronan fished the cheap metal from his pocket and tossed it across the table. Then he went back to looking at the table. He could hear Adam fumbling with the clasp but he didn’t look up again until their drinks were in front of them. His fingers curled around the cold glass and he downed half of his drink before putting the glass back down.

            “The clasp is stuck,” Adam said. He slid the locket back across the table.

            Ronan stared at it. He had a hard time believing his father had given that locket to anyone, even a whore. It didn’t take a trained eye to see that it wasn’t even silver. Copper, most likely. There was no design on the outside, just a simple closed circle on a plain chain. “It’s probably fake,” he said. “Not what my father gave her.”

            Adam’s expression fell. “I thought maybe we got something.”

            Ronan shook his head. “That entire visit was an exercise in futility. In fact, it probably convinced you that you were right never to enter a den of iniquity.”

            Silence followed this statement and Ronan risked another glance at the man across from him. Adam’s eyes were hooded, trained on the table. His fingers clicked against his glass and it took him a moment to say anything. “May I ask you a question?”

            “About what the whores said tonight?” Ronan said.

            Adam nodded.

            Ronan’s stomach twisted around its emptiness. He couldn’t name the last time he ate, so he was sure he wouldn’t vomit, but the possibility lingered, acidic, at the base of his throat. He pursed his lips tight and then said, “You’re the reporter.”

            “Off the record,” Adam said.

            Ronan met the other man’s eyes, steady. He nodded.

            “You...” Adam swallowed around the word, almost lost his nerve. But his confidence was something he was working on, Ronan could see that in every inch of him. So he waited, somewhat impatient, sipped his drink. “You have... relations with... men?”

            “On occasion,” Ronan said. He fought to keep his voice nonchalant, the words easy. He took a sip of his beer. The conversation was one he’d had before, few times, but enough times that he had memorized the patterns of it. He knew the warning signs, the markers that he should keep his mouth shut. Adam showed none of them. Reporter or not, when he said “off the record” Ronan believed him.

            “And with women?”

            Ronan watched Adam’s hand curl around the glass, the heat of his hand forming water droplets around his fingers. He met the other man’s eyes. “No.”

            “Oh.”

            Glasses clinked behind the bar, one smashed. Ronan kept his eyes trained on Adam’s, tried to stop his heart from beating right out of his chest. He had an analytical mind when it came to these things, but right now he felt like he was falling.

            “Does that... are you aware...” Adam trailed off.

            “It’s a sin?” Ronan suggested.

            “Yes.”

            “Not a particularly bad one.” He went on before Adam’s eyes could pop out of their sockets. “Sex out of wedlock is, in itself, a sin. Yet there is an entire enterprise dedicated to it that the cops turn a blind eye to. Women, good women, must keep themselves pure for their husbands, but there is no such restriction on men. So why sully the body of a good woman rather than that of a man?”

            “I don’t see your point.”

            “There are worse sins. Murder, for one. Adultery, for another.” He tried to sound dismissive. By the raise of Adam’s eyebrows, he thought he had achieved the right tone. “And it’s never been said that the Lynches aren’t sinners.”

            “I suppose,” Adam said. He took a sip of his drink.

            Ronan followed suit. A rag rubbed across the top of the bar, a sign they would close soon. The street outside was dead, no carriages rolling past. His driver was nowhere in sight; he probably stepped behind the building to take a smoke.

            “May I ask a rude question?” Adam said.

            Ronan looked back at him. “Do you think you haven’t already?” Adam turned bright red and, without even getting a word out, Ronan was sure he was about to apologize. He waved his hand to dismiss the coming words. “Ask away, Mr. Parrish.”

            “Do you... or, well, would you...” Adam swallowed, took a swig of his drink. Ronan did his best not to look curious. He had expected another question about God or sin or his eventual inevitable marriage to a woman. None of those questions started as Adam’s had. “I suppose, what I mean to ask is... are you... attracted to me?”

            The laughter in his throat, Ronan could swallow. The smile curling across his lips he could do nothing about. His eyes dipped from Adam’s, across the man’s broad chest, his exposed collarbone framed by the open collar of his shirt, and the dishevelled appearance of his vest. When he met blue eyes again, he took note of the brown curls that hung in his thick black eyelashes. Maybe licking his lips was the wrong move, but he found himself powerless to stop the motion.

            “I suppose,” Ronan said.

            Adam’s lips opened, formed an “O,” but no sound came out. Their thin bubble of air surrounded many possible reactions, but Ronan knew the one that would come once Adam managed to form the words. Men were easy to read. Years of finishing schools had made women masters at hiding their emotions, covering up every lie they told, but men got no such training, especially not men from the lower class.

            “I...” Adam cleared his throat. “Sorry. Mr. Lynch, I... I don’t fancy you.”

            Ronan let himself laugh. The sound was overdue and came out dry, forced even. He drank the last inch of his drink and let the glass topple across the wood. “I know, Mr. Parrish,” he said. “I know.”


	15. Chapter 15

Adam turned the locket over in his hand. Ronan had left it on the table at the bar and Adam had pocketed it, meaning to give it back but never having the chance. Now three days later, he still couldn’t figure out how to open it.

            “Parrish!”

            Adam looked up at the sound of Mr. Whelk calling his name. He dropped the locket onto the top of the desk and tried to look like he was busy writing something for the paper. In reality, he had three words written across the top of his page and an otherwise empty sheet of paper threaded through his typewriter.

            “Yes, sir?” Adam said.

            Mr. Whelk stalked down the rows of desks and stopped in front of Adam’s. His beady eyes glared over the top of his wire spectacles. “The wedding announcement,” he said. “Will it be ready for tomorrow’s edition?”

            “The... wedding announcement?” Adam repeated. He blinked, looked back at the page in his typewriter and the start of his interview with Blue. “Of course,” he said, even though he’d yet to write a wedding announcement and had no idea how he would begin to word one. “Sir, one question though.”

            “Yes?”

            “Whose wedding announcement?”

            Mr. Whelk looked at him as if he had asked for directions to his own desk while he sat at it. “Mr. Gansey’s, of course.”

            “But to whom?”

            “Who is Mr. Gansey marrying?”

            Adam swallowed, sure it was a trick question. “Well,” he said. He unthreaded the piece of paper from his typewriter, pulling against the gears, and coughed into his hand. “He claims to be marrying Miss Blue Sargent, sir. I’m simply unsure of whether or not his parents wish to support this claim in their paper.”

            “He didn’t give them much of a choice now, did he?” Mr. Whelk said and then walked off without another word.

            Adam threaded a fresh piece of paper into his typewriter and started the wedding announcement. The first part was easy enough. There was nothing easier than writing a wedding announcement for a prominent member of society. _Richard Campbell Gansey III, son of Mr. and Mrs. Richard Campbell Gansey II, esteemed Cambridge scholar and graduate, announces his betrothal to Miss Blue Sargent..._

After that it was harder to write. Blue’s parents names came next, but linking her to a known psychic and then leaving off her father’s name, making it clear she was a bastard, felt like information the Gansey’s would rather keep under wraps. Adam stared at the page for a long moment, the yellow grains on the white paper like over-creamed coffee stains. Then his attention flickered back to the locket on his desk, its tight clasp, and what could potentially be inside.

            Or not be inside. Ronan had seemed adamant that his father had better taste in jewelry, even when it came to his whores. He said he had better taste in jewelry for his whores by which he meant, of course, that no jewelry at all was in better taste then the cheap copper chain, silvered to look valuable, with a clasp that could not be opened. Adam was inclined to agree, as he could find better working lockets that wouldn’t turn a lady’s skin green on the corner of the street for a price even he might be able to afford.

            He pried his thumbnail into the crack of the locket, but achieved very little leverage. Cracked against the side of the desk, the cheap metal dented but did not open. He pulled out his pocket knife and pressed the point into the crack of the locket, wriggled the serrated edge up against the clasp, but to no avail. Eventually he gave up and stared at his unwritten article.

            Two hours to finish the announcement. _Miss Blue Sargent, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Artemus Sargent, a foreign born, well-finished beauty of high esteem in her community._ Adam stopped to reread the sentence; his fingers hovered over the letters of the typewriter. Technically, nothing he had written could be called a lie, but he doubted that either Blue or Gansey would use those words to describe her. Good thing the time crunch made it impossible to check it over with either of them. He was sure it would please the elder Gansey’s and that was what he was most concerned about anyways.

            He turned back to the locket. Surely there needed to be some way to open it and surely the fact that it was not easily done made it a clue in their investigation. He hated to think that the whore really had given them a false necklace, even though he knew if he had been in her position, right in the path of Ronan’s anger, he would have done anything to come out unscathed. She had even picked out the locket quickly, as if she hadn’t thought twice about which one she had grabbed.

            “What do you have there, Parrish?”

            Adam looked up to see one of the other reporters leaning out from his desk, his chair balanced on two legs. Adam held out the locket. “It won’t open.”

            “Do you care much about it?”

            Adam hesitated. “I care about the picture inside.”

            “Your girl?”

            He nodded.

            The reporter gestured for Adam to hand over the locket and he did. The man tapped the hinge side of the locket against the desk lightly and then cracked it hard against the wood. Nothing. Then he braced the locket against the side of his typewriter, balanced the knob with one hand and tapped the locket with the other. The nail in the hinge slid out and toppled across the desktop. The reporter deposited the locket into Adam’s hand.

            “Thank you,” Adam said. The man nodded.

            Adam turned over the two pieces of the locket and stared at the faded picture in the right side. It was not a girl, as the reporter had assumed, but a picture of a mansion, white brick faded, windows eerily black. The picture was taken from far away, through a copse of bushes with the leaves of a tree hanging in view of the house. For a locket, it was an odd image to keep close, and Adam felt a thrill run through him. Certainly this meant the locket had to be a clue. A house was not something a man wanted his whore to keep close to her heart.


	16. Chapter 16

Ronan closed his eyes to the harpsichord music. He had gotten a servant to fetch him a chair and leaned it up against a wall in the hallway outside the Gansey’s tea room. His heart pounded inside his skull. He was unwilling to say he was feeling the aftermath of his drinking since he was fairly certain he was still drunk.

            The sound of fake happy people poured out of the tea room. Whispered polite conversation floated to him in incomprehensible murmurs. Women sat around in dresses and hats, pretending to be out in the sun in the dead of winter. The only thing that made him want to go back into that room, that made the thought of going back in bearable, was that he knew Blue was somewhere in the middle of it, suffering greatly at the expense of the high society ladies around her. If only he could stand and watch her without talking to a single person there.

            He had only been alone three minutes when footsteps approached. He half opened one eye, ready to ignore Gansey’s insistence that he join the party again. A thousand complaints touched his lips but disappeared the moment he saw Adam Parrish stopped before him.

            “There you are,” Adam said, mildly out of breath. It wasn’t a stretch to spread the breathiness into other words the man might say and to bring those words into other places where he might say them. “I’ve been looking for you.”

            “Not very hard,” Ronan replied. He had been in the room for over an hour and seen Adam several times. He sat close to Blue, shot her conspiratorial looks of pity anytime she was asked a question she had no honest response to. The reporter had never once looked his way.

            “I got the locket open,” Adam said. He pulled the cheap chain from the pocket of his breeches and swung it towards Ronan, who caught the charm in his fingers. “Do you know what it is?”

            “A house.”

            “But do you know the house?”

            “No.” He dropped the charm and it swung back to Adam.

            Adam’s blue eyes stuck on the picture and he held the charm close, as if it meant something to him. It might have been the most expensive piece of jewelry the man had ever held. Perhaps he wanted it to give to his next fiancé, a girl who didn’t mind her skin going a little green as if she had gout. “It’s a clue, isn’t it?” he said. His voice was soft, strained to still sound excited by the prospect. “Who would put a house in a locket?”

            “Who knows?”

            “So, a clue.”

            Ronan tiredly opened both of his eyes to look up at the other man. He could hear Adam’s excitement fading, falling to match Ronan’s drone. A part of him felt bad for ignoring Adam’s excitement, but more of him felt bad for the effect Adam had on his headache. “I doubt it,” he said. “Like I said, I don’t believe my father would give anything so trashy to any woman, not even a whore. She probably picked it at random.”

            “And if she did, how did she pick the only locket in the stash that’s picture wasn’t of a woman? That’s picture is from a camera and not drawn or painted by a skilled hand?” Adam argued. “You can’t dismiss that it’s an odd image to keep in a locket.”

            Ronan blinked. He felt dizzy even though he was sitting down. “I’ll dismiss whatever I like.”

            Rage built in Adam, his fingers curling into his palms. Ronan welcomed the anger, almost hoped the other man would throw a punch. He could get both of them kicked out of the Gansey house in one fell swoop. A certain improvement on both of their lives. But Adam’s hands never made it all the way to fists and when he spoke, his voice was calm, measured, understanding. “Is this about the other night?”

            “What about the other night?” Ronan let his eyes close again, the back of his head hit the boards behind him.

            “When I said I... I wasn’t interested.”

            Ronan laughed. “Don’t flatter yourself, Parrish.” He managed to open one eye again, relished the blush on Adam’s cheeks. His lips curled into a smirk and he said, “This has nothing to do with you and everything to do with the man who was in my bed last night.”

            Adam’s lips all but disappeared from his face, his cheeks going redder.

            “I don’t know the house anyways,” Ronan said. “So clue or not, it’s useless.” He flicked the locket and the chain swung in Adam’s hand, a hypnotic back and forth, off rhythm of the harpsichord in the next room.

            New footsteps met them and Ronan managed to open both eyes for Gansey’s approach. He noted that he was very off, thinking Adam’s simple steps could match Gansey’s political bounce, every inch of him trained to match the situation. He smiled broadly at both of them and said without a hint of the disapproval Ronan was sure he felt, “There the two of you are.”

            Ronan made a non-committal sound. Adam said, “Is Blue in there alone?”

            “She went to freshen up,” Gansey replied. He clapped his hands, darted his gaze between the two of them. “What are we doing out here in the hallway?”

            “Avoiding the women of the ninth circle of hell,” Ronan replied drily. Already Gansey’s voice was having a negative effect on his state of mind. The playful punch he landed on his arm didn’t help either.

            “Be nice.”

            “If you wanted nice, you shouldn’t have invited me.”

            “You’re morale support.”

            “Well, I’m morally against this,” Ronan said. He sighed and forced himself to straighten in his seat, moving his legs from the hallway to be bent ninety degrees in front of him. His right foot grazed Adam’s ankle and it took more than a moment for him to dismiss the fact that Mr. Parrish had been standing between his legs. Perhaps Gansey did have a reason for his holier-than-thou disapproval of the moment. “Does that mean everyone can leave?”

            Gansey smiled, a true sign that he hadn’t yet dropped the family act. “Both of you should come back inside.”

            “I’ll pass,” Ronan said. “We’re working on something.”

            Gansey looked between the two of them and, despite the fact that Adam was clearly the more pliable of the two, settled on Ronan. Ronan stared back, his gaze lazy and impenetrable. Gansey did his best to put on his dad shoes, taking the role he had so many times since the passing of Ronan’s father. “Does this have anything to do with where you took Mr. Parrish the other night?”

            “Oh, everything,” Ronan agreed. “Our trip to the brothel was quite interesting.”

            Gansey’s eyes opened wide, the first crack in his armour. Ronan knew it would only take a few more pokes for it to crumble at his feet, for either his anger or disappointment to take over. A small voice in Ronan’s head told him this was neither the time nor the place to set Gansey off, but between his headache and his fatigue, he couldn’t be bothered to care. Reckless often became his dominant personality trait when he’d rather be alone. Reckless or self-destructive.

            “Your brothel?” Gansey said.

            Ronan opened his mouth to reply, but Adam cut him off. His hand shook as he lifted the locket for Gansey to see, his whole body trembling. The nervous smile on his face and the ease with which his words slipped out, so much more trained than his normal speech, gave away his discomfort. “We went to visit Niall Lynch’s... mistress. She handed us this locket, with this picture in it, and we were discussing what it might mean.”

            “Mean?”

            “We’re trying to find Mr. Lynch’s murderer,” Adam explained.

            Gansey took the locket, the chain falling over the edge of his hand. His lips pursed as he stared at the picture, his entire body still, armour gone. Here was the Gansey who spent hours up researching medieval times, who rode the train away from Cambridge and into the wilderness to explore old castles, the Gansey who loved a mystery. Ronan warmed at the sight of him, rare now that they were back from school for good.

            “I know this place,” Gansey said. “It’s a mansion in the Hamptons, long abandoned.”

            “Do you know who owned it?” Adam asked.

            “No, but it’s worth a look, if Ronan’s father did put this picture in his whore’s locket.” Gansey clasped the locket in his hands and looked between the two of them. “We should go. Tonight, if possible. The trail must already be cold, no sense in letting it freeze over.”

            Ronan snorted. “Tonight? You’d be lucky to get out of this place unsupervised by next year. Or do you forget the speech your mother gave you not two hours ago in which she said your insubordination would no longer be tolerated?”

            Gansey’s hazel eyes went hard, then sad. He dropped the locket into Ronan’s lap and Ronan watched it slip down his legs onto the floor. Adam bent down to pick it up. “Fine,” Gansey said. “You two go tonight. I’ll have a carriage take you there as soon as possible. Night will fall before you arrive, so I’ll find a lantern for you to take. Tomorrow you can update me on your findings.”

            “You want us to go right now?” Ronan asked. “What happened to morale support?”

            Gansey waved off his words. “I’ve dealt with worse without you.”

            “Funny. I don’t remember that being an argument before the locket came up.”

            Gansey said, “I’ll be back with that lantern and walk you out to the carriage. Then I’ll have to get back, no use leaving Blue to the vultures if I still intend to marry her.” He smiled, a real Gansey smile, and for a moment Ronan almost didn’t hate him for sending him four hours out of the way to search an abandoned house that most likely had nothing to do with his father’s death.

            Almost.


	17. Chapter 17

Adam had to admit that there were more awkward things than sitting in a carriage for four hours with a man who may or may not be attracted to you on your way to investigate a house possibly connected to said man’s father’s death when he neither believed the house was connected to his father’s death nor wanted to do anything other than sleep, Adam just wasn’t aware of them. He stared out the carriage window and counted the houses that passed by before the houses gave way to fields and he was left with nothing to count, the only sound to accompany him Ronan’s unhealthy snores.

            When they stopped in front of the house from the locket, he prodded Ronan’s shin with his foot and the man woke unhappily. Fire lit his blue eyes when they opened and didn’t dim even when Adam told him they had arrived. The driver let them out and Ronan handed him several bills, told him to wait around the corner until they finished. If the driver’s raised eyebrow bothered Ronan at all, he didn’t show it.

            They approached the front door of the mansion and Ronan tapped it open, the hinges creaking. They stared into the open foyer, cobwebs hanging from the chandelier and floorboards that looked likely to turn to dust below their feet. Ronan said, “Ladies first.”

            Adam caught his blue eyes and saw no edge to the joke. A calm had fallen over the night, still even though there was a long while to go until midnight. The chill of the air caused their breath to billow into clouds, ghosts that floated into the house and dashed their brains on the ceiling.

            Adam stepped into the house and Ronan followed close behind. So close that Adam could feel the man’s breath on the back of his neck, warm in the winter cold. The floorboards were silent, the dust so thick it masked the sound of their steps. “What are we looking for?” Adam asked.

            “Not a clue,” Ronan replied.

            “He was your father.”

            “He was a man of many secrets, most of which I never knew.”

            Adam looked back to see Ronan trailing his fingers along the length of the wall. The forget-me-not blue wallpaper brightened under his touch, dust adhering to his skin. He seemed better after the drive, less likely to bite Adam’s head off if he spoke or bumped into him. Maybe it was the easy quiet of the Hamptons that agreed with him, suddenly in place out of town, like he had never been meant for the bustle of the city in the first place.

            They stepped into the living room and Adam headed for a set of drawers holding a dusty china set. He went through every drawer, looked in the cotton coverings for something out of place, anything other than plates and serving dishes and tea cups. No luck became him, so he started on other objects in the room, looked for something that was suspicious or that at least connected Niall Lynch to the place. After a few minutes, he looked up to see Ronan still standing in the doorway. “Are you going to help?” Adam asked, bristling at the implication that he was somehow more suited to the menial task.

            Ronan said, “My father’s secrets wouldn’t be down here.”

            “Excuse me?”

            “This house was pictured in a locket he handed to his whore,” Ronan said. “If his secrets are to be anywhere in this house, they’ll be in one of the bedrooms. Upstairs.”

            Adam stared at Ronan for a moment before he shut the drawer. “Lead the way,” he said.

            Ronan turned and started up the stairs. The house was grand, but somehow Ronan’s brand of high class fashion didn’t fit the decor. The house screamed old money and Ronan’s tails, his green shirt collar, and the tight fit of his slacks screamed new. He even took the stairs differently than an old money man might, not the soft steps of someone watching their every move, but the eager movement of a man who knew where the bedroom was and what he could do in it.

            The second floor hallway stretched out before them, all the doors closed. Ronan started to open them and on his second try found a bedroom. He walked in and started to open empty drawer after empty drawer. Adam started on the opposite side of the room, looked under the bed covers and behind the draperies. When he stood up from under the bed, he realized Ronan had moved on and he went to find him in the next bedroom, knee deep in a drawer filled with clothing.

            “I thought Gansey said the house was abandoned,” Adam said.

            “You’ll learn quickly that Dick may present himself as infallible but he is often wrong about everything.” Ronan tossed woman’s undergarments across the dusty floors.

            Adam stepped into the room, careful not to touch any of the fabric on the floor. Once again he started on the opposite side of the room from Ronan but this time he paid more attention to the sounds Ronan was making, his heavy breath and discouraged grunts, the way his fingernails scratched against the bottoms of empty drawers.

            Adam’s eyes flicked over empty hiding places, his heart in his throat now that he knew someone might live here. Or perhaps the house had just been abandoned in a hurry. Both options made his skin crawl and he snapped out of his wondering only when he heard Ronan’s feet on the floorboards. He looked up, ready to follow into the next room, but Ronan had stopped at the doorway, his hand on the frame.

            From below, the creak of the door sounded. _Ghosts,_ was Adam’s first thought, but he reminded himself that reasonable people did not believe in the lingering spirits of the dead. Ronan walked from the doorway to the window next to Adam and looked out at the street below them. There was a horse tied to one of the trees near the front walk. Ronan muttered a curse.

            “Hide?” Adam suggested.

            Ronan was still for a moment, then he looked down at Adam. “Do you trust me?”

            “I... I suppose.”

            “Off your knees,” Ronan said. Adam scrambled to his feet, uncertain until Ronan’s fingers touched the collar of his shirt. He stopped breathing for a moment as Ronan made quick work of the top three buttons of his shirt, then the buttons of his vest, and pulled one side of his shirt out of his trousers. Then long fingers tousled through his hair, fast the first time, careful the next, as if Ronan was cultivating an exact look.

            Then Ronan undid the top buttons of his own shirt, his belt, and the front of his pants. He had no hair to muss, but he dropped his jacket to the floor.

            “What are you doing?” Adam asked. His heart beat harder now, even though a moment ago he wouldn’t have thought that possible.

            “Follow my lead,” Ronan said.

            Adam itched to ask what exactly that lead would be, but stood still, half undressed, his bare skin cold in the winter air. He watched the side of Ronan’s jaw as the man’s teeth grinded, tight against each other, his eyes on the open doorway. A footstep sounded close to them, the top of the stairs maybe, and Ronan turned to him. Adam met his blue eyes, suddenly drowned in their depths, in their closeness. Ronan closed the space between them, the toes of his leather shoes bumping the toes of Adam’s boots.

            “Trust me,” Ronan said, his voice tight. He laid his right hand against Adam’s neck and then leaned in, his breath hot on Adam’s skin. Adam’s heart in his throat, his whole body frozen, he felt wet lips against the side of his neck, in the pocket of skin where his heart beat. Ronan’s stubble prickled his skin, ticklish and rough, at once a reason to laugh and a reason to make sure the other man didn’t move an inch. Ronan’s lips moved softly, slowly, his angle awkward. Adam reached a hand out, placed it gently on Ronan’s hip to steady him. The words _trust me_ echoed in the air and Adam tried very hard to do just that, his eyes closing around the warmth of Ronan’s body, the smoothness of his lips, the feeling of pure adrenaline running through his veins.

            Then the footsteps sounded much closer and there was a cough at the doorway. Ronan’s lips left Adam’s neck, leaving his skin wet and sticky with saliva. Two pairs of blue eyes turned towards the officer, Adam’s wide and frozen, Ronan’s filled with disdain, the kind of raw power that came with knowing your family name was enough money to bail you out of jail.

            “Officer,” Ronan said. His voice dripped with venom, rough in his throat. He wiped the back of his hand against his reddened lips but made no move to create distance between them. It was then Adam realized his hand was still on Ronan’s waist and he dropped it quickly, desperate to separate himself from the embrace but also stick to his promise that he would follow Ronan’s lead. He kept his feet in place, tried not to close his eyes, but he stared straight at the side of Ronan’s jaw instead of meeting the officer’s eyes. “Is there a problem?”

            “Mr. Lynch,” the officer said. His voice was high, scared. Of course, there was little more terrifying than catching a Lynch in a compromising position, especially when Ronan’s pistol was now in full view. “Sorry to... interrupt.”

            “A problem?” Ronan repeated, impatience roughening his voice further. Adam forced himself to breathe.

            “No problem. Just... on my rounds, saw a light in an abandoned house... this is quite the mess.”

            “Like this when we got here, sir.”

            “Right. Of course. I’ll be on my way then. Have a good evening, Mr. Lynch.” Footsteps scrambled from the room. Neither man moved until the unmistakable creak of the front door sounded again.

            Ronan stepped towards the window and Adam’s eyes followed. He saw the officer get on his horse and gallop away from the house. Fingers pressed to the frosted glass, the ghost of a smirk lined Ronan’s lips as he watched.

            “We should go,” Adam said. His voice cracked on the words and he swallowed hard. Meeting Ronan’s eyes was inexplicably difficult when he looked back, but he managed to do so and clear his throat at the same time. “In case he comes back.”

            “He won’t be back for hours.”

            “We should go.”

            “Our clothes weren’t even off,” Ronan replied. As he said this, his eyes flickered across Adam’s exposed chest and Adam felt his blush across his collarbones, warm along the length of his neck. Ronan’s gaze went back out the window and he said, “He’ll expect us to be here for a few more hours. We can’t leave yet.”

            Adam swallowed hard, his fingers scrambled to do up his buttons again. He tucked the edge of his shirt back below his belt and said, “Are there any more bedrooms up here?”

            “I doubt it,” Ronan replied. “But we can check the attic.” He waltzed off, expecting Adam to follow, and forgot his coat on the floor. Other than doing up his pants, Ronan made no other changes to his disheveled appearance. It took Adam a moment to move after him.

            Taking deep breaths, he followed Ronan down the hall to a twisted staircase hidden by an open closet door. They walked up its length then ducked to fit under the low, slanted roof. Three dusty boxes sat on the floorboards and Ronan crawled towards them, Adam following after. They sat side by side and rummaged through separate boxes, Adam trying to convince his heart to slow down and his eyes to stop catching on the movements of Ronan’s hands, rhythmic as he tore through the papers stacked in his box.

            Adam’s box was full of dolls and he tossed them to the side with a cursory glance. He pulled the last box towards him and found a second stack of papers. Rubbing his eyes, he started to skim the words, but with little success. He had no idea what he was looking for and no idea what the handwritten business receipts meant. None of it looked too illegal to him or at least not illegal enough to get someone killed. Not to mention that none of the papers mentioned Niall Lynch at all.

            Halfway through the stack, Ronan’s elbow brushed Adam’s and Adam flinched. He did his best to play it off, kept his eyes on the papers, but Ronan’s snort told him he had given himself away. He sucked in his bottom lip and, before he could change his mind, said, “May I ask you a question?”

            Ronan sighed. “You must stop your unending civility.” Adam nearly lost hold of his stack of papers at the venom in the words, the fatigue from the Gansey’s tea party back with a vengeance. Then he said, “Yes, you may ask a question, Mr. Parrish.”

            Adam swallowed hard and flipped back the pages he’d been through so that he didn’t have to hold them up. Risking a glance Ronan’s way, he saw the other man’s eyes were still on the box in front of him, his skimming eyes barely glancing over a page before moving to the next one. The set of his jaw was soft now, the muscles of his face relaxed either by the monotony of the task or his returned fatigue.

            “What... what is it that attracts you to a man?” Adam asked. Ronan glanced up at him, the movement of his eyes fast, but his look lazy. Adam reminded himself that he had been trained to keep his expression neutral, same as Gansey. But he had dropped the papers he was holding and one of his eyebrows was raised. Adam scrambled to expand, the pitch of his voice rising as he explained, “I just mean, well, I understand women. They’re soft, delicate. Unknowable flowers under an unbearable sun. When you touch them, their skin is smooth and their smiles are flustered and you know just from your closeness that they trust you. But men... men have none of that. Men are ugly in comparison to a woman’s beauty.”

            “Did you ever think the opposite is the attraction?” Ronan said.

            “Excuse me?”

            “A man is rough, unbreakable. His skin is sandpaper, his smile a challenge. His closeness may not signal trust, but it signals a sort of acceptance, a game, if you will. When you touch his skin, you burn yourself. His stubble is pinpricks on your skin. That ugliness relates itself to strength, passion. You see, Mr. Parrish, a woman has no needs, no drive, but a man... a man has nothing but pure desire under his belt. Would you rather go to bed knowing you’ll barely be touched, you’ll do the work and be done, or that there will be a fight beforehand, a struggle for dominance, something to get your heart beating fast before your lips touch bare skin? And a man has so much more bare skin to touch.”

            His voice was honey over rough bark, barely a whisper in the attic’s dim light. Adam stared at the movement of his lips, drowned in the words.

            “Tell me, Mr. Parrish, have you ever had a woman up against a wall?” Ronan said. His eyes were curious, but he didn’t wait for the answer. The answer was that Adam had. “Haven’t you ever wanted to be in that position? To have a hard body on yours, pinning you to something solid, muscles tied around yours? Or, rather, to pin someone who has the strength to fight back, to give you something in return for your roughness, your passion, someone whose fire has never been beaten out of them? Have you never wanted to be kissed when and where you’re not supposed to be kissed?”

            Adam’s eyes flickered from Ronan’s lips to his eyes, electrifying in the darkness. He felt pinned in place, like Ronan had him against the wall, all of their skin touching. The ghost of Ronan’s kisses dried against his neck, a warning of what it meant to let him get too close. _Trust me._

            “I suppose not,” Ronan said. He looked back down at the stack of paper before him, suddenly disinterested in the task. “Let’s take the boxes back with us. We can look through them when it’s not the middle of the goddamn night.”

            Adam searched for something to say, but came up blank. He took the box before him in his arms and followed Ronan down the stairs, out of the house, into the carriage around the street. The driver’s professional facade slipped momentarily at the sight of the boxes, but he took them and secured them quickly. Then he held open the door to the carriage to let Adam and Ronan step inside.

            The size of the carriage, apparently the smallest in the Gansey’s possession, hadn’t bothered Adam on the ride down. Four hours with a sleeping Ronan, a rumbling carriage, and an empty landscape had been boring, but not unbearable. Now the small space seemed to trap heat, cause sweat to bead on Adam’s forehead.

            It did not help that Ronan had lost his jacket to the floor of the house and had yet to do up the top buttons of his shirt. His chest, defined muscles and a raised collarbone, moved to the audible rhythm of his breath. Ronan’s blue eyes were focussed out the window, but Adam had no doubt Ronan could feel his gaze, the way his eyes refused to move from Ronan’s bare skin. He forced himself to take a breath, tore his gaze away. He focussed out the other window and reminded his heart to beat.

            _Trust me._


	18. Chapter 18

Ronan laid back into Gansey’s pillows and tried not to let the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach take over. The cardboard boxes were on the floor, their contents covered every inch of the room except one circular spot where Gansey had sat moments before. Now he was downstairs, greeting Adam Parrish and inviting him up to the room. Nothing about that should have made Ronan’s heart race, but he found his whole body uncomfortably hot, his thoughts turning back to the night before and his lips on Adam’s skin.

            Gansey walked back into the room and Adam followed him. Gansey was mid-speech, his words rolling off his tongue as if he was unaware anyone else ever wanted to speak. “As far as I can tell, none of the papers are of much interest. Most of it is banking files from a shipping company with no connections to either Niall Lynch or the Irish mob in general. At least, no connections that I can find.” He stopped in his empty spot and glanced towards Ronan. “Are you sure there was nothing else in the house?”

            Ronan shrugged. “We only checked a couple of rooms.”

            “The bedrooms,” Adam added.

            “Of course you stuck to the bedrooms,” Gansey said, rolling his eyes. Adam went bright red, blush dripping from his cheeks down his neck. Ronan smirked, his eyes trained on the man’s profile, a silent plea for him to look his way. Gansey said, “My god. You didn’t actually, did you?”

            “Of course not.” Ronan scoffed. “Mr. Parrish doesn’t understand the attraction to a man.”

            “Attraction?” Gansey repeated. “It’s a sin of the flesh.”

            “And what lovely flesh it is,” Ronan replied. His voice faded on the last words as Adam’s hand went to the side of his throat. “Besides, my father would have no reason to be in a strange house in the country other than sex. The bedrooms are the only places where it makes sense to look for anything.”

            Gansey sighed. “But they’re not a very good hiding place then, are they?” He looked back down at the papers in front of him and his lips moved around numbers too big to count.

            Ronan’s eyes moved to Adam, who stood by the door, still looking anywhere in the room except for at Ronan. Ronan relished the avoidance, the ease at which he could make the man blush. He knew it was nothing but embarrassment at the memory, but it still thrilled him to think of Adam’s hand on his waist, his lips on Adam’s neck. If he pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, he could still taste Adam’s honey musk and the pollutants of the worse neighbourhoods. He dreaded the hours to come, where the taste would fade still further, and he’d have nothing left to show for his few moments with the beautiful reporter.

            “I’ll try to convince my mother to let me go out there tomorrow,” Gansey said. “I’ll say I want to check out the property, see if there’s any possible way to salvage the building. Or maybe I’ll say I’m looking into it as a wedding location. The gardens there are quite nice, are they not?”

            “Lovely,” Adam said.

            “Then it’s settled. I’ll take my mother, Blue, and Mr. Parrish tomorrow to check out the property. If I tell Blue of our plans, she can keep my mother occupied while we search the property,” Gansey said.

            “Can I come?” Ronan asked.

            “My mother’s already mad at me. There’s no point in purposefully goading her.”

            “But then she’ll be mad at me instead of you.”

            Gansey’s soft smile said all that needed to be said. But he spoke the words anyways. “You know that any anger she feels towards you will be reflected back onto me.”

            Ronan conceded the point and picked at the silk comforter he sat on. He grumbled, “It’s my father’s death.”

            “If I bring you, you’ll only end up in the bedrooms again,” Gansey said.

            “Trust me when I tell you there are much more interesting places in a house to fool around with Mr. Parrish than in a bedroom.”

            “Ronan,” Gansey warned.

            But Ronan wasn’t really listening to him. He was watching the unsteady flicker of Adam’s eyelashes, the way his eyes darted away from the spot he had chosen on the floor and then came back to it, like the man was purposefully keeping his gaze downturned. “The kitchen, for instance,” Ronan said, “has plenty of objects where one might bend over—”

            “Mr. Lynch,” Gansey snapped. His hazel eyes’ fire demanded Ronan’s attention.

            “Oh, come on, I’m not trying to corrupt _you_.”

            Gansey took a deep breath and turned to Adam. “I apologize for Mr. Lynch’s bad behaviour. Between this morning and last night, I would not blame you if you decided that dealing with him is not worth the conclusion to this mystery. In fact, I would not blame you if you concluded that his behaviour is not worth your job at my family’s paper. If you wish to drop the article on Blue and I, I will gladly make sure you keep your place at the paper.”

            Adam finally looked up, but his blue eyes stayed trained on Gansey. “No apology necessary, sir.”

            “Sir,” Ronan repeated, under his breath. But the word was enough for Adam to look his way, his eyes impassive, the word unheard, just the exhale enough to get his attention.

            “Besides,” Adam said, “Mr. Lynch is correct. I do not understand the attraction of a man.”


	19. Chapter 19

Ronan Lynch haunted Adam’s nightmares. Nightmare was the only word for what he saw in his head, night after night, waking up in cold sweat, still feeling Ronan’s hands on his skin. The man’s words kept replaying in his mind: _pure desire, a struggle for dominance, a hard body on yours._ And he felt all those things in his sleep, saw himself pinned against a wall, Ronan the one who kept him there.

            Then not at night, if a breeze blew the wrong way when he walked down the street or someone spoke and their breath hit his neck, he could feel the ghosts of Ronan’s lips, phantom kisses, pressed against his skin. Occasionally when he glanced in a mirror he expected their mark to be tattooed there, black ink like that below the collar of Ronan’s shirt.

            Adam did the only reasonable thing he could to get rid of his nightmares. He threw himself into his work. With some convincing, he managed to get Gansey to move the boxes from the abandoned house into his apartment and Adam would spend nights pouring over the numbers until exhaustion drove his head to his desk. His drool spotted the papers. He had three articles written on Blue Sargent, three good ones. There were dozens of others, each filled with more fantastical lies than the next. She was a dragon tamer, a world-renowned surgeon, the daughter of a Russian tsar. Love poems to her came out on his typewriter, none filled with any passion, and he tried to remember what it had been like to kiss her lips. Chaste. Quick. But he had liked it. He knew he had liked it.

            The search of the house with Gansey had turned up nothing. However, that didn’t mean there was nothing else to find. Even with Blue distracting Mrs. Gansey, it was hard to overturn drawers, throw clothes from closets, and pry up floorboards without questions being asked. Gansey had returned home defeated. Adam escorted Blue back to her mother’s shop and ended up with The Devil card in his hand once again.

            Now he was working late at the office, a candle burning low at his desk. Mr. Whelk had made it very clear that nothing he did counted for overtime pay, but Adam wasn’t there for the overtime. He was half-convinced that a demon lived in the walls of his house and that if he fell asleep somewhere else the nightmares wouldn’t follow him.

            Then he heard the locks turn. The sound was soft, simple, not the kind that came when a metal wire was used to push the tumblers out of place. Still Adam rose with his heart in his throat and crept to the stairs. He looked down into the main office, heart pounding, and watched the door push open.

            Gansey walked in, looked around, and spotted Adam almost immediately “Mr. Parrish!” he exclaimed, as if it weren’t nearly midnight and they were running into each other out on the street. “Just the man I’ve been looking for. I’m about to make your job much easier for you.”

            “Excuse me?” Adam said. He almost said ‘sir’ but he swallowed the word, an early conversation with Ronan at the forefront of his mind along with the recent memory of his breath on the word a few days ago.

            “Miss Sargent is about to do something that you can actually write about honestly,” Gansey said. He stopped at the foot of the stairs, looked up at Adam with a beaming smile. “I know fiction isn’t a reporter’s talent. Try to look happy.”

            “What’s she to do?” Adam asked. He turned his thoughts towards Blue, replayed actual memories of the two of them together. Then he stopped himself abruptly, suddenly very aware her fiancé was in the room. He cleared his throat. “Apologies.”

            Gansey waved him off, skipped up the stairs. He laid a hand on Adam’s shoulder and turned him around, led him back into the office. “My mother has come up with the most brilliant of ideas.”

            “Mrs. Gansey?” Adam said. He sat down in the chair Gansey put him in, even though it wasn’t at his desk. “She’s... supporting you?”

            “She’s supporting the Gansey name and reputation,” Gansey replied. “She has an unmarried daughter and a son about to marry a commoner. If she doesn’t do something drastic, she’s bound to lose all respect. Instead of marrying Helen off to a Lynch, she’s decided to work on Blue’s image. And to do that, she needs a coming out party.”

            “Helen and Ronan?”

            “Declan,” Gansey corrected. He frowned. “You knew that.”

            “I did,” Adam agreed. He shook the image from his head, tried to catch up with the rest of what Gansey had said. “A coming out party?”

            “Her reveal to society, like a proper lady would have had at sixteen,” he said. “She’ll be dressed to the nines, fawned over by everyone in sight, and enter our ranks through dances.” He paused a moment and patted Adam on the shoulder. “I’m not completely sure it’s not a ploy to introduce her to other eligible bachelors so that she forgets about me, but whether that’s the intention or not, it’s a good idea.”

            Adam nodded. “And what’s the urgency of the matter?”

            “The party is to be Saturday and the event needs to be announced as soon as possible so everyone not invited can become jealous and everyone invited can feel special enough that something they’re going to has been mentioned in the _Daily_ ,” Gansey said. “Is it too late to make tomorrow’s paper?”

            “Much too late.”

            “Then the next day’s. Or add a flyer to the paper.”

            “A flyer?”

            “Classless?”

            “A little.”

            Gansey pursed his lips in a thin line then tilted back Adam’s chair. “Then it can wait for the next edition. I only came because Mr. Whelk said you were still here and I thought perhaps I wasn’t too late.” He paused and let the chair drop. Adam pressed his toes into the floor, careful to keep his balance. “Why are you here?”

            “I was...” Adam looked for the right excuse. His eyes moved back to his typewriter and the paper in it. The page was nothing but random letters typed one after each other, something to keep his hands busy while his mind wandered. He met Gansey’s eyes again and shrugged. “I thought I’d look into the case for a bit.”

            “Did you find anything?” Gansey took the chair from the desk beside him and sat down.

            Adam shook his head. “That house is still the only lead and the papers we found there are no help at all. There’s no pattern to the numbers and no mentions of Niall Lynch at all.”

            Gansey frowned. He dug his elbows into his knees and leaned his chin on his clasped hands. “What other names were on the documents?”

            With an exhale, Adam looked towards the ceiling. He rolled through the papers in his mind, the numbers what had stuck with him, and tried to remember a name. Rubbing his eyes, he muttered a few words before managing, “Gray... Carruthers... Greenmantle...”

            “Greenmantle?” Gansey repeated.

            Adam looked at him. “Do you know it?”

            “Maybe...” he said. “Maybe I’m just remembering it from when I read the papers but... I also feel like I’ve heard the name from Declan.”

            “A business partner?”

            “No, a mob boss.”

            “Irish mob?”

            “I think Russian.”

            Adam sighed and shook his head. “We already went to see Kavinsky. He claimed to know nothing about it.”

            “And you believed him?”

            “Ronan did.”

            “Ronan’s always had a soft spot when it comes to Kavinsky,” Gansey said. “I suggest you take another run at him, without Ronan, and see if he changes his tune.”

            “Alone?”

            “I’m afraid even this trip has cost me an arm and a leg,” Gansey said. He sounded truly sorry about not being able to go, even though the potentially dangerous den of a Russian assassin seemed like a place a man like Gansey would actively avoid. “Kavinsky hates me anyways. You’ll have better luck alone.”

            “Or I’ll be killed,” Adam said.

            “A possibility.”

            Adam stared at Gansey, waiting for something other than that nonchalant comment, but nothing came. Gansey patted him on the shoulder again and then got up, the chair rattling under the loss of his weight. He yawned and said, “Make sure to go home eventually, Mr. Parrish. And don’t forget about that article for Blue’s party. But perhaps finish it tomorrow. It’s late.” He paused and said, “Do you need a ride home? My driver will take you after he drops me off, it’s no trouble.”

            Adam shook his head. “I live close,” he lied. But the walk, if he took it, would be good for clearing his head. He was already excited at the prospect of having something to write other than monotonous gibberish. And the coming out party would be an interesting topic, something he’d need to struggle with to get the wording right. He couldn’t simply say _in a desperate attempt to legitimatize their son’s engagement, the Gansey’s plan to throw a society party for his fiancé._ It would have to be delicate.

            Gansey said, “Well then. I’ll take my leave. Goodnight, Mr. Parrish. Lock up behind yourself.”

            He did not lock up behind himself. In fact, after drafting the piece on Blue’s party to death, three drafts past perfection, he fell asleep at his desk and was woken by Mr. Whelk, who told him he better be able to put in a full day, no matter what he did last night. But fatigue aside, Adam still considered it a good start to the day, because he had woken without tendrils of nightmares following him into the daylight.


	20. Chapter 20

Ronan did what he could to forget Adam’s words. He had known from the start that he had no real chance with the man, hadn’t even really wanted a chance, just liked to tease the spineless bastard. But now, when he pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth absently, subconsciously hoped Adam’s taste was there somewhere, hidden in the recesses of his memory, he found it hard to remind himself that it was his own fault he felt this way.

            Fortunately, he had a tested cure for all things related to his emotions: he drowned himself in booze and whores until the outside world ceased to exist and returned only when he was sure the landscape of the world had changed enough that whatever his problem was, it had disappeared forever. His current problem would take three days to get over. He had dealt with this issue before.

            Ronan stumbled home on the third day to find that the door to his brother’s office was once again ajar. He chose to ignore it. How long the door had been open was hard to say and how long Declan had been listening for the locks, for the screech, impossible to tell. Very likely his brother had left the door open for all three days, tired of listening for the sounds of the house, and now was not even in his office, the candle alight for effect only, to guilt Ronan into feeling bad about spending so long away from home.

            It didn’t work. Guilt wasn’t an emotion that Ronan felt often, especially not when he had spent his time well and his money badly. Three steps down the hallway, past the office door, and his brother’s voice followed him. “I hope you’re not doing what I think you’re doing,” Declan said, more anger in his voice than Ronan was used to.

            His buzz faltered for a moment, but stayed, and the warmth of the alcohol in his stomach kept him from continuing on to the stairs. Declan would chase him if he had to, but Ronan would find the whole event exhausting, and he didn’t need his brother berating him for his carelessness at the moment. Every time Declan tried to step into the position of “father figure” Ronan ended up punching him and Declan ended up staying home for days nursing the bruise so that no one in society would find out how Lynches really settled their arguments.

            Declan had no books in front of him this time, just an unthreaded typewriter and two dripping candles. Both were new, the wax barely melted, and Ronan wondered if Declan had just stepped into the office, noticed the carriage on the street and prepared to look intimidating for his brother’s arrival. If that was his plan, he had failed. His tie loose around his neck, he looked more like an aged banker than a merciless tyrant. Yellow stains even touched his sleeves, an odd miss for Declan.

            “Where have you been?” he asked.

            “You know perfectly well,” Ronan replied.

            Declan pursed his lips. “I’ve been to speak with Mr. Czerny. He’s open to your proposal, given the appropriate amount of time passes before it happens.”

            “And what is the appropriate amount of time?”

            “I’ll let you know,” Declan said. “But for me to do that, you need to be sleeping under this roof. I let you do whatever you want as long as you keep it out of the papers and keep our family name out of the mud, but I will not stand for you spending days out of this house, doing God knows what. If it were a busier week, you would have missed events, parties, places you need to be seen.”

            “I plan my disappearances well,” Ronan said. He had no energy to be angry with his brother, even though the inside of his head felt it necessary to scream obscenities at him, to tell him that he wasn’t his father and shouldn’t try to be. “You have no need to worry about me. I do what I’m told, you know that.”

            “You do many other things as well.”

            Ronan blinked. Declan’s jaw, lit by candles, looked like it had no skin covering it. His teeth were raw bone in the fire, sharp incisors, made to tear flesh. His hands, usually laid before him on the desk, were hidden beneath it. The stains of the shirt, yellow sweat, were illuminated.

            “And you don’t?” Ronan said. He flicked his gaze across his brother’s grubby appearance. “Is legitimatizing the family business not going well for you?”

            Now that he looked, he could see that his brother’s bottom lip was split open. The soft red of a bruise formed just under his eye. If Ronan had come in ready for a fight, his brother had come in fresh out of one. His eyes held a haunted look, a nightmare memory that he hadn’t wanted to relive when he had called Ronan into the office.

            “How about I handle my business and you handle yours?” Ronan suggested. “I show up when I’m needed, I marry Miss Czerny, and you do whatever it is you do. Follow in father’s footsteps or wipe them out with your boot. I couldn’t care less either way.” He stepped from the doorway.

            “Gansey called,” Declan said. Ronan paused, but didn’t turn back. “He says you should stop by and see him.”

            The thought made Ronan’s stomach curl. Gansey’s express invitation could mean only one of two things: things were moving forward with his engagement or things were moving forward with the search for his father’s killer. Both options required seeing Adam Parrish again and Ronan was suddenly sure he had miscalculated the days. Perhaps he’d only been gone two instead of three; sometimes it was hard to tell with alcohol.

            Instead of turning towards the stairs, he turned back to the front of the house. Declan’s voice followed him as he turned the locks, but he drowned out the words, intending to drown much more before the night was over.


	21. Chapter 21

Anything would have been better than waking up in the morning with the intention of heading down to a bar in Russian territory without adequate protection or any accompaniment. Worse was the fact that Adam had had to sleep at home the night before so that he could wake at a decent hour, fresh and ready to find Kavinsky. The nightmares lingered in his mind, Ronan’s voice an echo in his ears. He tried to twist the words into Ronan’s warnings about Kavinsky, tried to remember anything he had been told about the Russian, but all he could remember was that the man was hard to find after four.

            He walked down into the Russian district and stared into various bars. They all looked the same to him, all dark exteriors with faded lettering. He remembered the lettering on Kavinsky’s bar was gold, the storefront black, but that narrowed down little. He turned down streets he didn’t remember and ones he thought he might before he changed his mind. A few men stared at him as he passed, his cheap reporter clothes not too good for the neighbourhood but not bad enough for it either.

            The sun had risen solidly above the horizon by the time Adam found the bar he was looking for. He had entered two other’s before it, asked for Kavinsky, then asked for directions. Russians were terrible at giving directions.

            But the bell in this bar sounded familiar, its emptiness an eerie greeting. Adam let the door close behind him and waited for someone to come out to greet a customer. No one came. He cleared his throat and called, “Mr. Kavinsky?” Then, louder, “Kavinsky!”

            A plethora of Russian words Adam didn’t recognize greeted him from somewhere in the back. He stepped towards the sound, pressed his fingers to a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. A shuffle came from inside and he stepped through the doorway, his heart in his throat. “Mr. Kavinsky?” he asked, some of his nerve lost.

            “Jesus Christ, wait a minute, would you?”

            Adam stepped further into the backroom, the racks a mess of bottles. Then the room opened up, no longer a narrow hallway but a small room with a rickety bed shoved against the back wall. Kavinsky was zipping up his pants and he glared at Adam, his eyes hot on him, boring through him.

            “Did I not just ask for a minute?” he snapped.

            But Adam barely heard him. His eyes were locked on the other man in the room, his back to him, but the curve of his shoulders unmistakable. Even more mystical than that, the black lines of his tattoo swirling down his shoulder and across his back, dipping low into the waistband of his drawers. The lines weaved smoothly around Ronan’s curves, branded themselves into his skin, and had an odd quality of movement, as if they were alive. At the centre of the pattern a raven could be made out, its beak sharp.

            Then Kavinsky slammed Adam into a concrete wall. His arm at Adam’s throat, Adam struggled to breathe. “When you don’t listen,” he hissed, “there are consequences.” The barrel of a gun poked Adam’s stomach.

            “He won’t tell anyone,” Ronan said. Adam met his eyes over Kavinsky’s bare shoulder, their blue dead water, pooled in a pothole on the road.

            “I could trust you,” Kavinsky said, “or I could shoot him.”

            Ronan said nothing. He crossed his arms over his chest, the muscles of his stomach more well-defined than Adam would have guessed, if that were something he thought about. The gun jabbed between his ribs, the rough edges of Kavinsky’s knuckles bruising Adam’s skin. He let out a puff of air, an involuntary sound, and the back of his skull knocked into the wall. Ronan’s silence stayed a tangible part of the atmosphere.

            “You won’t let him,” Adam said, exasperation giving way to panic.

            Ronan shrugged. “I have very little control over him once we’re out of bed.”

            “You have very little control over me in bed,” Kavinsky spat. His spittle touched Adam’s cheek, his eye.

            The silent grin on Ronan’s face begged to differ, but he said nothing. He stood, oddly comfortable in his drawers, his eyes trained somewhere between the back of Kavinsky’s head and Adam’s face. Adam tried to catch his eye, but he was unusually deadpan, disconnected from the world.

            “What did you take?” Adam asked.

            Ronan’s eyes met his, his pupils large. He shrugged. “Does it matter?”

            “It does when your friend has a gun to me.”

            With a sigh, Ronan stepped forward and laid his hand on Kavinsky’s shoulder. Kavinsky flinched, shrugged off his tough, but took a step away from Adam. The two looked at each other, their eyes locked for a moment, and Kavinsky tossed the gun to the bed, grumbling something in Russian.

            “That’s just unfair,” Ronan said.

            “If he says anything he’s dead,” Kavinsky warned.

            “If he were the type to say anything, he’d be dead already,” Ronan said. He reached out a hand and pulled Adam from the wall. Adam’s whole body shook and Ronan’s touch did nothing to calm him. He felt like part of him was still stuck to the wall and Ronan’s grip only made it slightly easier to leave that part behind. “I’ll meet you outside,” Ronan said.

            Adam nodded, unsure what else to do. Ronan’s hand fell from his arm, too soft, too slow. The man’s fingers skittered down the length of his arm, electric. But he turned without meeting his eyes and Adam stood, stock still, watched as Ronan threw clothes back over his bare skin. He only left when Kavinsky snapped at him, whatever words the man had used lost the moment he said them, but the shame they brought stuck in his chest like wildfire.

            Adam stumbled back out onto the street and leaned against the bar’s front window. Wide open, his eyes were no longer capable of blinking. He pressed a hand to his stomach, sure a bruise the shape of a gun barrel would be there tomorrow. His heart had seized to beat at all, his pulse not present in his chest, his throat, or his feet. With a deep inhale, he forced his eyes to close against the sun, but the backs of his eyelids held images of Ronan, sleep-deprived, dead to the world, half-naked Ronan.

            “Why did you come here?”

            Opening his eyes at the sound of Ronan’s voice, Adam found it hard to compile this image of Ronan Lynch with the man in the back of the bar. His clothes were on, yes, but disheveled. He had barely bothered to tuck in his shirt, his collar askew, the edge of his tattoo still visible. His coat slung over his arm, he leaned against the window, his forehead on the glass, eyes vacant.

            Adam tried not to let his mind follow the curve of the tattoo down Ronan’s back, but had to physically pull himself back from the thought, his feet tripping over a break in the pavement. “Are you all right?” he asked, ignoring Ronan’s question.

            “Lovely.”

            “Kavinsky?”

            Ronan smiled. “You’re very slow, Mr. Parrish.”

            Adam thought about it, the first conversation he had heard between the two of them. Maybe he was very slow. Ronan wasn’t exactly undercover when it came to his exploits, his sins. Adam’s mind wandered to thoughts of the two of them in the backroom, night after night, a real life story of Romeo and Juliet, except tied to the mob. The thought that the two of them might be in love, might have dreamt of running away together, restarted Adam’s heart.

            “We should go,” Adam said.

            “Not before you tell me why you were here.”

            Adam paused, Ronan’s hand on his arm. His touch was light, but his fingers burned. When he noticed Adam looking, he pulled back his hand, the edge of a poison smirk lining his lips.

            “My apologies,” he said, sarcasm dripping.

            Adam ignored him. He tried to ignore everything except for the question at hand and how to word his answer. But he felt like he was the one on some illegal drug, the entire world a hallucination around him. Or maybe he was just finally going crazy from the pressures of his job. “Gansey,” he said. “Gansey wanted me to ask Kavinsky about your father without you being present. Said that you had a...” Adam tripped over the words “soft spot” and couldn’t make them come out of his mouth. “Anyways. One of the names on the documents was Greenmantle and Gansey thought that was the name of Kavinsky’s boss.”

            Ronan stared at him and Adam was unsure if his silence came from the information or the drugs. Then he said, “Greenmantle is a territory marker for the Irish, not a boss of the Russians. Not a person at all.”

            “Oh.” Adam could think of nothing else to say. His eyes flickered back to the tattoo, to the knowledge that it swirled down Ronan’s back, nearly touched his hips. His fingers had been against it in the abandoned house, when Ronan had kissed his neck, and he hadn’t even known.

            “We should go,” Ronan said. He seemed uninterested in the statement, but also uninterested in staying. “Kavinsky might call enforcements to take you out.”

            With his voice so flat, Adam couldn’t tell if it was meant to be a joke or not. But just in case it wasn’t, he started down the street, stopped when he realized Ronan wasn’t following, and went back for him. He hesitated to take Ronan’s arm, but there seemed to be no other way to get the man to follow him.

            “Where do you live?” Adam asked.

            Ronan said, “Declan would kill me.” They walked two more blocks before he added, “Drop me at Gansey’s.”


	22. Chapter 22

“Wake up,” Gansey said, no force behind the words.

            Ronan grumbled against the pillow, got fabric in his mouth. He spit it out and turned over onto his back. Covers rolled away from him, tied his legs together, but he did nothing to fix the problem. His eyes, glued shut, took all his effort to open.

            “Where am I?” Ronan said.

            “My guest room.”

            “Which one?”

            “The one you like.”

            It took a moment for the words to process and then Ronan opened his eyes to meet darkness. The thick draperies around the bed kept out the light, velvet curtains with no holes for the sun. He sighed in relief. His head was clear, but his body felt boneless, like his blood had turned to jelly, and the other three humours had been replaced with pie filling.

            “Did you pick me up?”

            “No,” Gansey said. He sat down at the end of the bed, his eyes on the book in his hands. “Mr. Parrish dropped you off.”

            The memory came back to Ronan slowly. He’d left the house after speaking with Declan, ended up at Kavinsky’s, taken whatever he was given, and woken to a voice yelling in the bar. Adam, apparently. He barely remembered that part, barely remembered Adam in the place of the man in his memories, the faceless man he had let Kavinsky point a gun at. His stomach rolled at the thought; he bent over to the side of the bed and vomited all over the floor.

            “My servants hate you,” Gansey said, finally shutting his book.

            Ronan looked up at him, intent on a snappy comeback, but nothing came to mind. He felt light-headed, the world spinning around him as his stomach grumbled, desperate for food to fill it. Over three days ago was the last time he ate anything substantial enough to be considered a meal. When his eyes met Gansey’s, the thought of asking for food disappeared, knowing he’d only get a lecture on drinking with an empty stomach.

            “Declan said you called?”

            “There’s a party in two days,” Gansey said. “Blue’s entrance into high society. I thought that perhaps you would like to help with the preparations as an excuse to stay around and discuss the case with myself and Mr. Parrish.”

            “I suppose,” Ronan said. “I suggest a psychic in the corner, a crystal ball on every table, and Blue to be dressed like an Indian princess.”

            “If you’re to come to this party, you’ll need to be civil.”

            “Civil is my middle name.”

            Hazel eyes settled on him, hard over their worry. Ronan wished for a fraction of a second, right before the annoyance set in, that there was anything he could say that would settle the terror that ran through Gansey’s veins. His friend had been more of a parent to him than a sibling since even before Ronan had become an orphan. And as much as he hated Gansey’s pity, Gansey’s unending dismissal of society while he played right into its hands, he also hated to worry him.

            “I will be the perfect guest,” Ronan said, “and I will make no suggestions about the party decor at all. I can move tables or serve tea.”

            “We have servants for that.”

            “Surely the Lynches are little better than servants to the high and mighty Gansey’s.”

            The edge of a smile pinched Gansey’s lips and he softened. “There’s also the issue of Mr. Parrish.”

            Ronan’s stomach curled at the thought. Maybe he had still miscalculated the days. Maybe he hadn’t been gone three days at all. But he knew that was a lie. Even the most rushed party hosted by the Gansey’s would have gotten him an invitation sooner than two days beforehand if he hadn’t been incapacitated. He had drowned himself in booze and men and whatever else he could find and surfaced to find the world exactly how he had left it, his father dead, his friend engaged to a peasant, and Adam Parrish still holding a spot in his heart that he thought he had filled with opium a long time ago.

            “No need to worry about me,” Ronan said, the lie easy on his tongue. Easier still because the next sentence made the first the truth. “I’ll be married soon.”

            “Married?” Gansey said. “To whom?”

            “Your reject.”

            “Miss Czerny?”

            Ronan nodded. “Her father is desperate to give her away, Declan is desperate for an old money bloodline to mix with ours... I’m sure he’d marry her himself if he wasn’t worried what I’d be like living on my own, outside of his control.” He faked a smile for Gansey’s sake. “So you see, soon I will know of women, and there will be no more sins for God to forgive.”

            “Congratulations.”

            “Thank you.”

            “I’m sure your brother will want you to spend Blue’s whole party at Miss Czerny’s side,” Gansey said. “Do you know how to court a woman? How to win her favour?”

            “Please don’t try to teach me.”

            Gansey smiled. “Just remember subtlety and propriety. You are a stand for her beauty, nothing more. Conversations need to be kept to the light side, the polite side. You must ask her to dance, let her dance with others, but always make sure she comes back to you. Try to be charming.”

            “I’m nothing if not charming,” Ronan replied.

            “Yes,” Gansey said. He picked the book back up again. “Now, would you like to know what I found out about your father’s business last night?”

            Ronan sat up straighter, eyed the book. He reached to grab it, thought better of it, and turned his palm up so that Gansey could offer it. The brittle pages shed wood pulp onto Ronan’s lap as he flipped through rows of numbers and names. “What is this?” he asked.

            “All I know is it was dropped at our doorstep with a note that said, _Stop the Lynch brothers_ ,” Gansey said. “Of course, since you and your brother are close family friends, whoever dropped it off made the wrong choice of family for idle gossip. As for what’s inside, I recognize only one name.” He took the book from Ronan, thumbed through the pages until he found one with the top right corner bent down. His pointer finger scanned the page until it touched the only recognizable name.

            _Czerny._

“The next clue,” Ronan said.

            “After the party,” Gansey said.


	23. Chapter 23

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Blue asked.

            “Do I ever?” Adam replied.

            Blue sighed, got up from her stool and walked over to him. She placed her hands on his shoulders and turned him away from the mirror, her slender fingers falling to the bowtie around his neck. “I must say I’m surprised that you’ve survived these people as long as you have,” she said.

            “I could say the same about you,” Adam replied. He watched her eyelashes flutter as she worked, the worry of the motion and the pattern lined across her forehead. Reaching out, he brushed a loose lock of black hair behind her ear and she didn’t even flinch. “Are you ready for this?”

            Blue looked up, the bow tie in place, and smiled. “This is my entrance into society. Isn’t that what every little girl dreams about?”

            Adam’s lips curled, but he knew the smile didn’t touch his eyes, same as Blue’s didn’t touch hers. “I’m happy for you,” he said. “I’m glad you found someone that you love as much, if not more, than I loved you. But I need to ask, Miss Sargent, are you sure you’re willing to do this for him? Give up everything you’ve known your entire life just to enter his world?”

            Blue licked her lips and took a step back. She walked easily in skirts and corsets despite not being born to them. The ball gown tilted around her legs, its robust periwinkle folds concentrated near the front so that Blue had to lean back to account for their weight. “He’s done the same thing for me,” she said.

            “He’s done nothing.”

            “But he was willing,” she said. “Do you think it’s easy to talk to parents like his? Do you think that bringing me here, saying my name inside these walls at all, was something that he just did? No risk required? Just because someone’s grown up with money, lived his whole life of privilege, that doesn’t mean that everything he does is immediately accepted. In fact, it means quite the opposite.”

            Adam nodded. “I should know that. I am the person scrambling to cover for him.”

            Blue’s smile was light, a feather, like all the women of society were taught to put on at a young age. But hers was natural, a part of her compassion. She pressed the palm of her hand against Adam’s cheek, soft, smooth. “Thank you,” she said.

            “It’s my job.”

            “But you didn’t have to do it,” she replied. She let her hand drop and stared at her palm for a moment, as if all the rules of society that had never applied to her were suddenly running through her head. Taking another step back, she perched on her stool and said, “How long until this party starts?”

            Adam checked his timepiece. “An hour or so.”

            “And you’re here to brush me up on my manners? Do another interview?”

            “I think the official reason was to keep you company,” Adam replied. “But I believe what that really means is that they didn’t want you running around their house unsupervised. I’m also not completely sure that the Gansey’s aren’t hoping to catch us in a compromising position and break their son’s heart to save their reputation.”

            Blue laughed. “They’re very hopeful people.”

            “Soon they’ll be your parents.”

            Blue’s laughter cut short, a small spark of horror going through her eyes. Then she shook her head and said, “Let’s speak of something else.”

            “What do you have in mind?”

            She pursed her lips, her hands folded properly in her lap. As she sat in silence, Adam memorized the curves of her body, the smoothness of her skin. He had loved this woman once. He still loved her now, wanted to love her, had that attraction Ronan had spoken of in the attic. Perhaps all his sinful thoughts came from a sort of sensory deprivation. He had spent too long with only men and it was beginning to affect his mind.

            “My mother had an interesting reading yesterday,” Blue said. Her eyes brightened with the story, the edge of a laugh on her lips. “She almost sent the man away, said he had a dangerous vibe, but she figured we weren’t the people he wanted to hurt.”

            Adam snorted. “Was it Mr. Lynch?”

            “I wish,” Blue said. “I would love to have that to hold over his head. No, a Russian. Kavinsky, I think.”

            “Kavinsky?” Adam’s heart sped up at the name, but he tried not to let it show. His mind whirled back to the memory of a gun in his gut. Kavinsky’s ease, Ronan’s bare skin, the way Kavinsky dismissed it as commonplace, didn’t give it the attention that the work of art deserved. He swallowed the odd heat inside him. “Did he pull The Lovers?”

            “No,” Blue said. “That’s an odd question.”

            Adam shrugged, tried not to linger over the memory of pulling the card from the deck, over the knowledge that Ronan had pulled the same card not too long before him. “What did he pull?”

            Blue shrugged. “The usual. Death, I think, but my mother determined it was only a change coming his way, a big upset in the way he does business or perhaps a job he’s unwilling to take. I left halfway through. I didn’t like the way he was looking at me.”

            A fleeting thought that Kavinsky’s card could mean real death moved through Adam’s mind. For a moment, he wished for it, then he quickly repented for his thoughts, asked God to forgive him. It struck him in that moment that he’d never spoken to God about his other thoughts, the other sins that moved through his mind, and he determined that perhaps he would go to church after the party.

            A knock sounded at the door and, too quickly for either to respond, Mrs. Gansey stepped inside. She looked between the two of them, disappointment flicked through her eyes at the distance between them, and she said, “I’ve been asked to collect Mr. Parrish to bring down to the ballroom so he can see everyone enter. Dick said the start of the party might be a good image for your article. Will you be all right alone for a moment, dear?”

            “Yes, ma’am,” the two of them said in an awkward round.

            Mrs. Gansey’s picture perfect smile flinched, but stayed in place. “Very well,” she said. “Mr. Parrish, this way please.”

            Adam shot Blue one last look, a parting smile, and headed out the door. Mrs. Gansey spoke of pleasantries the entire way down the hall and he nodded to her, to her words, said something where it was appropriate. She dropped him off in the ballroom and went to get ready, an odd statement considering she was already in a gown, her hair tied in a neat twist, with jewels adorning every inch of skin she showed.

            Adam took a spot at the back of the room and jotted a few notes on the set-up. The marble floors sparkled, candles lit the chandelier overhead, and the whole room glittered like a diamond. Perhaps Blue wore the family ring on her finger, but this room was the true jewel of the Gansey dynasty.


	24. Chapter 24

Miss Elizabeth Czerny was far from boring. Far from plain too. In fact, Ronan was sure that had her father been a patient man, she could do much better than a Lynch. If Noah Czerny rode out the scandal of Gansey’s rejection, he could easily pair her with a Beaufort or a Little. Perhaps he could find an older family from another town willing to take her on. She was still young, had the time to wait, fresh out of finishing school and sparkling in her sun-yellow dress, her curls disappearing into the fabric. She had been the first choice of the Gansey’s for their son’s fiancé. Clearly she was above the likes of Ronan Lynch.

            Only she didn’t seem to mind. She said little, deferred to him in all things, and smiled when he spoke. She laughed at all his jokes, blushed when he crossed a line but didn’t presume to have the power to slap him. Perhaps she was scared of him. Most girls in high society feared the Lynch boys; they were taught to from a young age. But she also might have liked the danger. She seemed the type to want out of the monotony of society life, to be pulled into something bigger.

            Ronan found himself over an hour into the party with no desire to either kill himself or drink his memories into oblivion. She filled any space that might have otherwise been empty with pretty words he needn’t follow and never complained if he changed the topic without warning. Declan would be proud of him, as the only remotely impolite thing he’d done all night was not spend a lot of time looking at her. But that could be twisted into politeness too, the desire not to frighten a lady with one’s gaze.

            The third dance started and Ronan took the opportunity to bring Miss Czerny onto the dance floor. Her gloved hand was soft in his, smooth against the calluses of his skin. Her waist, tiny in the palm of his hand, was delicate enough to crush. The space between their bodies was cold, the heat of the packed room not enough to warm him.

            Over the top of Miss Czerny’s head, he could see Blue dancing with a soldier. She laughed as he spoke, a loud sound that filled the room, her head bent backwards over thin shoulders. It was hard, Ronan found, not to look at her. She was the most alive person in the room, the one with the least inhibitions, and she had an easy way of making everyone like her, even if they disapproved.

            The song came to an end and Ronan handed Miss Czerny off to a man with a better last name than his. He sat back down at his table, Declan in his ear the moment he was sure Ronan could hear him. “Why did you do that?” he hissed. “You know the Mallory’s have a better handle on the Czerny’s than we do.”

            Ronan glanced at his brother over his shoulder. “A woman is not an object, but a person, brother. If she wants you, she’ll come back to you.”

            “Where do you get these things?”

            “I read.”

            Declan snorted and leaned back in his chair. His eyes scanned the crowd, looking for Helen, no doubt. She had hidden herself well. Ronan had spotted her only momentarily, camouflaged in her brown dress, probably pressed against a wall somewhere hiding from all the potential suitors that populated the party. Because, in an attempt to either get rid of Blue or marry off Helen to someone of high status, the party was full of men desperate for a wife and with last names that made “Lynch” synonymous with “dirt.”

            At the end of the song, Ronan rose again and waited for Miss Czerny’s eyes to catch his. When they did, he approached and took the next dance with her as well as the one after. Her smile was bright, brilliant, and her laugh like a fork against a glass, calling the world to toast to it. He could appreciate the beauty in front of him, the product of schools too expensive for even his blood. And he wondered if perhaps there was a way to test if her obedience was fear or attraction.

            Pulling a woman out of a ball without being noticed was a feat Ronan had never had a reason to try before. However, he doubted that it could be much harder than escaping his house, stepping back from a man at just the right moment, or getting Adam Parrish to let him kiss his neck. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, just to be certain that the taste was gone before he went and allowed another into his mouth. That is, if Miss Czerny really was the type to crave a little danger and not the type to slap him for suggesting such things.

            “Let’s sit this one out,” Ronan whispered as the song came to an end. He took Miss Czerny’s other hand and led her off the dance floor, placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. He started to walk around the room, stopped several times with her to speak to others he knew. Already he had crossed a line. To lead her like this was to lay a claim to her, in a way, but she seemed not in the least offended. She smiled and spoke with the women as he spoke to the men. This moment was an easy glimpse into the future, ball after ball like this, with her on his arm, her smile by his side, rings on both their fingers. Ronan had always told himself he could do it, marry a woman, but he hadn’t been one hundred percent certain until that moment.

            He pulled her away from the Beauforts and slipped out a side door. “Mr. Lynch,” Miss Czerny said. Her voice held the edge of an admonishment, but flooded with excitement. “Where are you taking me?”

            “I thought perhaps some fresh air might do us good,” he said. But they both knew the balconies were off the ballroom, in clear view of all the guests, not out in the hallways where the servants scurried and no one was around to chaperone them.

            Miss Czerny took a breath, the kind of steadying breath Ronan rarely heard women make. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, saw her mask slip for a fraction of a second. Her eyes met his, glitter and gold, all of her a precious metal. “I have a reputation to uphold, Mr. Lynch.”

            “It’s a good thing I intend to marry you,” he replied. He turned down a hallway he knew was rarely used and never used by servants. He turned her under his arm, like he had twirled her on the dance floor, and pressed her up against the wall. To himself, he said _gentle._ A woman could be broken.

            Immediately the feeling of having someone beneath him was less exciting. But he couldn’t determine if that was because of her softness, her taught obedience, or because the hoop under her skirt kept their hips from touching. He ran a hand through the softness of her curls, felt their smoothness ring around his fingers. His nails skittered across the skin of her neck and her breath caught, her eyes wide.

            “Miss Czerny,” he said, voice quiet but not rough. He tried to feel something for her. It wasn’t that she wasn’t beautiful, wasn’t worthy of his admiration or his praise or even his worship. It wasn’t that she was gold to the darkness of Adam Parrish or that he couldn’t hold her tighter than this light embrace without fear of cracking porcelain. He had no idea what was wrong with him because, truly, she was perfect. “May I kiss you?”

            “You may.” Her breath skittered across his mouth, smelled of flowers. All of her smelled of flowers, a cloud of perfume so light that it stuck to her skin, noticeable only at close range.

            Ronan ran his thumb down the line of her jaw, leaned in to kiss her. Her lips soft, delicate, small, and his, too big to match hers, wet against her skin. He didn’t press, didn’t presume to go further than that one kiss, but he didn’t pull away either, his lips stinging sweet. He kept his eyes closed, his body still. He licked his lips and his tongue skittered across hers.

            “Do you wish to try again?” she asked, breathless.

            His only reply was to try again, move his lips over hers. She responded now, used to the movement, and her hand hovered over the base of his neck. He tried to breathe through the kisses, find the place that would speed his heart, but he felt little. Teeth grazed his bottom lip, his own, and he pressed his tongue into her mouth, held his hand tighter in her curls, felt her surprised exhale against his whole body, his waist bent into the hard hoops of her skirt.

            Now her hand touched the back of his neck, her nails scraped his skin. A flutter of something hit his chest, but not enough. Her other hand pressed to the collar of his shirt, cold against the lines of his tattoo. His hand at her waist slipped up her bodice, cupped the smooth curve of her breast and moved away when she stiffened.

            The kisses were wet, short, and far from sweet. She knew how, an instinct he had met in few people, but was too soft, too breakable, so smooth beneath his hands, his body, his lips. With a breath, he leaned his forehead into hers and pulled his lips away, his fingers clenched around her hip. He let his hand fall from her hair; golden tendrils stuck to his fingers and fell to the floor.

            “I’m sorry,” he whispered, not quite sure what he was apologizing for.

            She smiled, sunshine, topaz. God, he knew he should love her, love her more than he had anyone else in his life. When his father had spoken of his future wife, he had painted a picture of perfection that didn’t even come close to matching Miss Elizabeth Czerny.

            “It’s all right.” She brushed her fingers down the length of his neck before letting them drop to her sides. “It was nice.”

            “Very nice,” Ronan agreed and her blush came back, light and pink on her pale cheeks. He touched the backs of his fingers to her colour, saw her nervous smile come all on its own, no training needed for its flawless imperfection. Perhaps he did love her. Perhaps he could learn to.

            He stepped back and faked a smile of his own, one of the ones that spoke of years of the Lynches hiding their true intentions, their true nature. A natural, easy thing that he had either inherited or learned too young to remember. “We should head back.”

            “One moment,” Miss Czerny said. She leaned against the wall, still for a moment more, then steadied herself on her feet. Ronan offered his arm and she took it, the pressure of her hand much stronger than it had been on the way there.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Panic attack

Adam spent the party invisible. Invisible was good to him. It kept him from making a fool of himself, made it easy to take notes on the party, and gave him a particularly good place to watch every movement from.

            Blue was the easiest to watch, the star of the ball. She had walked down the grand staircase, announced to the room like a queen, and taken Gansey’s hand like it was her own, an extension of her body. All the easy grace Gansey had shown with Miss Czerny was present in his actions with Blue but, more notably, was also present in Blue’s actions with him. They moved as one, fit together like puzzle pieces.

            Harder to watch was Ronan. He had two positions in the room, next to his brother and next to Miss Czerny. It was clear that he favoured the latter, as he hung on the woman’s every word, and, although he rarely looked at her, it was clear by his smile and an ease that Adam had never seen in him before that she was the sun to his moon.

            Adam tried not to let that dip his heart into his feet. After all, Ronan was a Lynch and Lynches were trained actors just like every other high society family was. He still did his best not to watch him, not to let his gaze sway towards the pair, uncomfortable with the twist in his stomach, the bile in his throat. He focussed on Blue instead and tried to let her happiness wash over him.

            He lasted over an hour as a wallflower before too much champagne drove him from the room. Still steady on his feet, he made his way out of a side door and apologized to the servant he nearly knocked into. The man apologized back and moved on, barely glancing Adam’s way. Adam wondered if the servant could tell he wasn’t any better than him or if his new suit, more expensive than anything else he had worn in his life, hid him as a commoner. It certainly did nothing to raise his status with the people in the ballroom, but perhaps it raised him above the servants.

            As he touched the front of his jacket, he suddenly remembered being in the tailor’s studio with Ronan behind him. He hadn’t noticed the touch of the man’s blue eyes then, but he could feel them now, feel them in the folds of the suit, the tightness of the seams. A chill ran through him at the thought and he shook his head. He was drunk, bladder full, and sleep deprived. If his nightmares came to him in the daylight, it was only because part of his brain fell asleep while his eyes were open.

            It was not long before he realized he had no idea where there was a bathroom in the Gansey household and he had to ask a passing servant for directions. He turned down the hall he was directed towards, took the second turn and froze. His shoes had melted into the carpet, he was sure of it. His eyelids stuck open, blinking no longer an option.

            For, right in front of him, was a sight he had never thought he would see. And it’d never struck him until that moment just how certain he had been that this was impossible, against the true nature of the world itself, a fantasy that someone had built just to keep social order. Ronan himself had said he had never been with a woman, but maybe that was about to change.

            Adam watched. He didn’t know why he watched, what it was about the curves of Ronan’s arms around a small body, the man’s hips pressed against soft flesh, that froze him to the spot. Perhaps the curl of Ronan’s fingers in Miss Czerny’s hair gave him pause, brought him back to Ronan’s fingers in his hair, the gentle pull against his skull. Or perhaps his eyes simply stuck on the movement of Ronan’s lips, the slow breath of his kisses, the gentle rhythm he brought to every leisurely movement of his skin against hers. The air in the hallway moved the wrong way and Adam felt those lips on his skin again, on his neck, close to his ear, an inch away from his lips.

            Only the sudden realization that he had ceased to breathe made Adam step back. He couldn’t heave for breath here, mere feet away from them, so he scrambled out of the hallway, down the meaningless corridors, and back into the ballroom. He measured his steps once around people and headed out onto a balcony. His fingers curled white against the railing, the muscles of his hands stretching to reach around the thick stone structure. _Breathe,_ he told himself, but no air made its way into his lungs. _Breathe._

            Cold air flooded his chest, froze every blood vessel in his body. His skin went cold, blue, ice. Breath came fast, oxygen a drug his lungs couldn’t handle, and he bent over the railing as if to reach more of it, as if being closer to the ground would bring the oxygen to him. But the truth was, even huffing in air like a starving man scarfed down food, he couldn’t breathe. He swallowed air but got nothing from it, could feel his body turning blue, was sure he’d suffocate out on the balcony.

            Tears blurred his vision and he felt the stone of the railing scrape his palms. Blood, thick and wet, stuck to his skin. He wrinkled his nose, tried to stop himself from crying, and finally found a bubble of air that stayed with him. He held onto it, clung to it, and forced himself to breathe in a normal rhythm. In and out. In and out. In and out. _Trust me._

            Slowly, Adam unwrapped his hands from the balcony’s railing. His hands shook desperately as he stepped back, tears hot on his face, blood cold on his hands. When he turned over his palms, he was surprised to find no more than spots of red against his life line, barely an injury, barely sticky.

            “Adam?”

            Adam closed his eyes at the sound of Blue’s voice. He cleared his throat, found he didn’t have the breath to apologize. “Yes?”

            “Are you all right?” Her hand touched his back, warm and solid between his shoulder blades. He leaned into her touch, felt her strength falter, and then her other hand wrapped around his arm. “Adam? What’s wrong?”

            He shook his head. “Too much to drink.”

            “How many times have I told you not to lie to me?”

            Adam laughed, a hoarse chuckle in the still night. The music of the band drifted over him, mixed with the winter air. His skin was red, raw with the cold. “Miss Sargent, I don’t wish to talk about it.”

            Blue stayed silent for a moment. Adam felt the loose strands of her hair blow onto his skin, tickle his neck. She rubbed slow circles down his spine, her breath a rhythm he could catch onto to teach himself how to hold air in his lungs again. Giving his elbow one last squeeze, she let her hand fall from his back and said, “Would you like to ask me to dance?”

            He met her eyes, their wide worry. He hadn’t seen this kind of love from her since he’d first shown her his temper. “Would you like to dance, Miss Sargent?”

            She curtsied like a real lady. “I thought you’d never ask, Mr. Parrish.” She placed her hand on his elbow and led him into the ballroom, letting it look like he was the one doing the leading. They stepped onto the dance floor and, before he could take her hand, she pressed her glove to the hollows under his eyes and the fabric came away wet. “Is this hard for you?” she asked.

            He took her hand, lied, “There are easier things than losing you.”


	26. Chapter 26

Ronan walked into the offices of the _Daily_ the next afternoon with a new sadness and a new bounce in his step. Hating himself had never really been an issue and if he wanted to be sure that he couldn’t love a woman, well, now he was sure. That had to be worth something to him, so he made it worth something, and walked past the secretary at the front desk without a word, right up to the editor’s office.

            He knocked twice and waited. His eyes flickered to the scattered desks of the reporters and caught on the top of Adam’s head, dirty brown hair covering his forehead, a rat’s nest that came with furious writing. He had read the article on the party that morning, knew Adam must have been up most of the night to get it written and the paper printed in time. Dark circles were probably below his eyes, his shirt wrinkled, his easy presence disheveled.

            The door opened and a man with wire spectacles and a far from sunny disposition poked his head out. He took one look at Ronan and said, “May I help you?”

            “Ronan Lynch,” Ronan said. He offered his hand and the man took it, his shake weak and his fingers shaking. “I have express permission from Mr. Gansey himself to take one of your reporters, Mr. Parrish, on a special assignment for the rest of the afternoon.”

            The editor looked him up and down. Ronan’s hand curled around the note in his pocket, ready to flick it in the man’s face, but he preferred not to have to. Then the editor yelled, “Parrish!”

            Adam’s head darted up, dark circles deep under his eyes, a coffee stain on his shirt. The top button was undone, just at the edge of inappropriate. His eyes landed on Ronan first, watery blue, and wide with terror. “Yes, sir?” he called.

            The editor motioned him forward and reluctantly Adam left his desk. He shuffled his feet the whole way over, refused to look at Ronan again. When he reached them, the editor said, “Parrish, Mr. Lynch has permission from Mr. Gansey to take you on special assignment this afternoon. I expect a full time log and a mock-up of this article tomorrow morning.” Adam nodded and the editor stepped back into his office, slammed the door in their faces.

            “Lovely man,” Ronan said. He kept his eyes on Adam, tried to get the other man to look at him, but no luck. “Ready to go?”

            “Where are we going?” Adam asked. He fiddled with the button of his vest, trying to cover the stain.

            “Mr. Czerny’s house. Gansey thinks he might know something about my father’s business.”

            “And why am I coming?”

            “Gansey thought it would be a good idea.”

            “Of course,” Adam said, unfamiliar acid in his tone. He raised his eyes to meet Ronan’s. “Wouldn’t want you to get distracted.”

            Ronan blinked. “What does that mean?”

            “Nothing,” Adam said. Then, he added in a tone Ronan wasn’t sure he quite liked, short and snapped, “Sir.”

            Before Ronan could argue or find a reply, Adam was walking down the stairs. He followed after, his mind buzzing through all the things he could have done to annoy Adam, but he came up blank. He hadn’t spoken to Adam since... since he had let Kavinsky hold a gun to his guts. An apology was necessary, but that didn’t mean he was going to give one. He tipped his hat to his driver and he opened the door to the carriage, Adam sliding in first. The reporter curled up near the side wall, his eyes steadfast out the window.

            They drove to the Czerny’s house in silence, Ronan only breaking it when they were a block away. “I’ll do most of the talking,” he said. “Mr. Czerny is a good man, friends with Gansey, but he’ll be wary of a reporter. Of course, it’s your job to ask the questions... Adam, are you listening to me?”

            Blue eyes turned his way, bored. “Yes, sir.”

            “Mr. Parrish, this is incredibly unprofessional of you.”

            “Is it?”

            Ronan felt hot rage bubble in the pit of his stomach. He shifted his jaw, his teeth grinded. Biting his bottom lip, he turned his head as the carriage door opened and spat on the pavement. His driver didn’t react, simply stepped further back from the opening. Then Ronan slipped out and headed for the door, no longer worried about whether or not Adam would follow him. The man could rot in the carriage if he wanted to.

            But he felt Adam’s presence next to him seconds later, heard the crash of the carriage door. Ronan knocked and the two of them waited. “You could at least be civil,” Ronan said.

            “I’m nothing if not civil,” Adam replied.

            Ronan exhaled an angry breath and he felt Adam stop breathing beside him. He curled his hands into fists but was surprised to see that Adam’s hands were flat at his sides. Then the door opened and Mr. Noah Czerny stood before them, a smile on his young face, the only lines in his skin laugh lines.

            “Mr. Lynch,” he said. “What a strange pleasure. I just heard from your brother a few days ago.”

            Ronan smiled, channeled the part of him that took after Gansey. “We’re here on a different matter entirely, I’m afraid, although my excitement for my brother’s proposal nearly overwhelms me.” He extended a hand towards Adam and perhaps swung too far and too hard, but the man barely flinched. “Perhaps you’ve had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Parrish?”

            “I don’t believe I have,” Mr. Czerny extended his hand. “How do you do?”

            “Well, thank you,” Adam said. His handshake was strong, brief. He smiled.

            “May we come in?” Ronan asked.

            “Yes, please do.”

            Mr. Czerny stepped out of the way and the two men entered the house. Its grandness did not match that of the Gansey’s, the building narrow, polished oak. There was not a speck of dust in its interior, a reflective surface everywhere one looked. Mr. Czerny gestured to his right and led them into a small sitting room dominated by a grand piano and two couches. Ronan sat and Adam left a whole cushion between them, squished his arm into the throw pillows.

            “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Mr. Czerny asked, finally taking his seat after sending a servant to fetch them tea.

            “My father,” Ronan said.

            “A terrible tragedy.”

            “Yes, well, I’ve taken it upon myself to look into what happened,” Ronan said. He kept his voice measured, watched Noah’s grey eyes. “It’s recently come to my attention that you might have had some part in my father’s business.”

            Noah laughed, a small sound. “I’m not sure anyone had a part in your father’s business, Mr. Lynch. I perhaps had some dealing with him, invested in some of his properties. But I know very little of what he was into outside of imports and exports.”

            Ronan smiled. “I’m sure. Mr. Czerny, I by no means want to besmirch your good name, as I’m sure you mean to imply nothing negative about my father’s business. I only wish to know whatever you may know about the circumstances of my father’s death.”

            “I heard it was random.”

            Ronan hesitated, unsure what to say next. Luckily, Adam took up the reigns. “Random shootings are rarely quite as random as they seem, Mr. Czerny,” he said. “In fact, I would go so far as to say that there is no such thing.”

            Mr. Czerny blinked. He looked to Adam like he had forgotten the man was in the room, but Ronan had no idea how. Even with three feet of space between them, he could feel the tense rage radiate off of Adam, his presence a heat spot in an otherwise cold room. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say,” Mr. Czerny said.

            “I by no means want to imply that you know anything about Mr. Lynch’s death. If you did, as an upstanding and respected citizen, I’m sure you would have come forward,” Adam said. The smoothness of his voice, the ease with which he found diplomacy, caused Ronan’s eyes to focus on him. His lips moved around words carefully, as if every single one was a present, and on the edge of his jaw, Ronan could see the beginning pinpricks of stubble. “We simply wish to ask if you noticed anything out of place in the weeks leading up to Mr. Lynch’s death. Did he step out on any business opportunities or were your earnings not what they should have been on a certain investment? Do you know if he seemed nervous or said anything to you that in hindsight seems to be important?”

            “This was months ago,” Mr. Czerny said.

            Adam nodded, calm. “Anything worth mentioning to us now you would remember, sir.”

            Ronan’s mind lingered over that last word for so long that he almost missed Mr. Czerny’s reply. “I can’t think of anything. My apologies.” And he nearly missed the downturn of Mr. Czerny’s eyes, the way his hands clenched tighter together. His tongue spread over his lips. “But do please stay for tea. We can discuss other matters.”

            “That won’t be necessary,” Ronan said, cutting off Adam. He stood and extended his hand to Mr. Czerny. “We would love to take advantage of your hospitality, but unfortunately this matter requires our prompt attention and you are but one name on a long list. Thank you for your time.”

            “Always a pleasure,” he replied. His grip on Ronan’s hand was sweaty. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Parrish.”

            Adam took his hand in silence and they exited the house. As soon as the door closed behind them, Adam said, “Why did you do that? Do we have another lead?”

            “No,” Ronan said. “But Mr. Czerny was lying.”

            “Yes, he was. Don’t you think we should have made him admit that?”

            Ronan shot Adam a dismissive look. “The Czerny’s are second only to the Gansey’s in name and nature. If a man like that lies to you, he will stick to that lie until you lay him in his grave. Even if you catch him in the lie, he’ll insist he believed what he said was the truth.”

            Adam exhaled, rolled his eyes. “So what’s your brilliant plan now, then? Just let him get away with it?”

            Ronan snorted. “Of course not. We’re going to break into his house.”


	27. Chapter 27

Adam had spent the better part of the afternoon trying to explain to Ronan why breaking into Noah Czerny’s house was a very bad idea. And Ronan had spent most of the afternoon ignoring him. Which was why, once night had fallen and all the lights had gone out at the Czerny house, they stood across the road, dressed in black, staring up at the imposing oak structure.

            “This is a terrible idea,” Adam said.

            “You’ve said that already.”

            “I want it on the record for when we’re arrested.”

            Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ronan smile, a curl of one side of his lips, pallid pink in the streetlights. Then he said, “Come on,” and walked across the street. Adam followed, reluctant.

            They walked around the back of the house to the servant’s door that led to the kitchens. It was propped open with a crate of green oranges, indented to a juicy pulp by the weight of the door. Ronan pushed the door, careful to watch for a sound, and poked his head inside. Then he stepped into the house and Adam followed, careful to match his steps to Ronan’s, careful to stay close behind him. The scent of him made the task nearly impossible, dry cloves and cigar smoke.

            The house’s silence followed them. The floorboards were silent, the doors well oiled, and the only sound seemed to be that of the servant’s snores. Adam allowed himself some distance from Ronan, his eyes still trained to the back of the man’s head, slipping to the final curl of his tattoo, the only line exposed over the collar of his coat.

            “What are we looking for?” Adam asked. Even at a whisper, his voice felt too loud.

            “Books,” Ronan replied. “Something that tracks his dealings with my father.”

            “If he was in bed with your father, he’d keep it a secret.” Adam winced at his poor word choice, but Ronan didn’t seem to notice. He’d stopped in front of a family portrait, his eyes on Elizabeth Czerny. Adam’s stomach turned. “He’d keep it in his safe.”

            “And that would be in his bedroom?” Ronan asked. His eyes, no light to illuminate them, looked black.

            “Most likely.”

            Ronan nodded and headed for the stairs.

            “He’s asleep,” Adam said.

            “Most likely not in his own bed,” Ronan replied. He took the stairs two at a time, no longer worried the house would make any unnecessary sounds. Adam scrambled after him, his legs shorter, not capable of spanning such distances.

            The second floor of the house opened to a foyer, a large sitting room right by the stairs. The two men skirted around it and went down a hallway, three doors open, two closed. “Try the locks?” Adam asked.

            “And if someone’s sleeping?”

            Adam bit back a retort that Miss Czerny most likely wouldn’t mind the intrusion. He pressed his ear to one of the closed doors, then the other. “I don’t hear anything.” He tried the doorknob and the door swung open to reveal an empty space, not even a rug on the floor.

            “Too much space,” Ronan said. He opened the other door to reveal a similarly empty room.

            They moved on, tested doors as they went, and found only two rooms locked. One had the unmistakable sound of breathing behind it but the other was silent. Ronan stood in front of the door for a long time, his fingers turning the doorknob one way, then another. “I suppose you don’t know how to pick a lock?” he said.

            “Why would I?” Adam said.

            Ronan shrugged and rammed his shoulder into the door. Once, twice, and then the wood splintered, the sound echoed through the house. Both of them stood stock still, listening. Adam thought he heard a catch in the breath behind the other locked door, but no footsteps came their way.

            “That’s the problem with big houses,” Ronan said. “You can’t hear the robbers.”

            They stepped into the master bedroom. Ronan’s proximity struck Adam as suddenly inappropriate, a bed so close to them, the whole room dedicated to an unknown couple. Adam remembered to breathe, kept his breath in check as he searched the walls for a safe. He was aware of every movement Ronan made, every footstep against the silent floorboards. He could feel him breathing, even several feet away.

            “Found it,” Ronan said.

            Adam got up off of his knees and looked around the room. He could hear Ronan’s breath and followed it into the closet. A safe sat on the ground, a large dial in its centre. Ronan stood before it, a smile on his face. “Know how to crack a safe?” But this time the question was clearly a joke, so Adam didn’t bother to reply.

            He stepped further into the small room and stood next to Ronan. The dial of the safe had two hundred numbers on it and no indication of how many numbers it took to open it. “Do you know anyone who can crack a safe?” Adam asked.

            Ronan considered the question. “Gansey. Maybe.”

            “Can we steal it?”

            Ronan raised an eyebrow. “You’re welcome to try.” He stepped to the side, rattled the hangers, and gestured to the safe. “Go ahead. Try to pick it up.”

            Adam gave him a look. “I didn’t come here to get made fun of,” he said.

            “Why did you come here, then?” Ronan asked. He stepped out from the coats, nearly closed the distance between them. Adam held on to the small pocket of air that separated them, forced himself to meet Ronan’s eyes. “You’ve been off all day. What’s wrong with you?”

            “Nothing’s wrong with me,” Adam spat.

            The venom in his voice made Ronan’s eyes go cold and a twitch started in his jaw. But before he could say anything, a sound moved through the silent house. The sound of wood scraped across floorboards, keys turned in a lock, then the shut of a lock back in place.

            “What,” Adam said carefully, so quiet he wasn’t sure he could be heard, “was that?”

            “I believe Mr. Czerny just came home,” Ronan replied. He reached out and closed the closet door, essentially removing the space between their bodies.

            Adam couldn’t shift away, not without hitting the coats and making a racket. _Breathe_ , he reminded himself. There was no window in the closet and therefore no light. He could feel the buttons of Ronan’s shirt against his chest, the gentle rise and fall of his breath. Warm air fluttered over his face, tingled across his lips.

            Footsteps sounded near them and Adam closed his eyes. There was a moment of irreversible silence where Ronan nearly stumbled and steadied himself with a hand against Adam’s hip. Adam was aware of every crack in Ronan’s skin, every fissure of his fingers as nails dug into the fabric over his skin.

            “JOHNSON!” Mr. Czerny shouted.

            The sound shook Adam and he felt Ronan’s fingers release for a moment, grasp again. His heart in his throat, nausea took over. The closet was too small, too close, too hot. Ronan leaned closer, his forehead against Adam’s, and Adam could feel the sweat on his skin, the slippery nature of Ronan’s touch.

            “CALL THE POLICE.”

            “Any last words?” Ronan said, an attempt at a joke.

            Adam opened his eyes, somewhat adjusted to the darkness. He could see the sparkle in Ronan’s eyes, the curve of his forced smile. Ronan’s hand rose to his face, cupped his chin. Adam ceased to breathe, the whole world spinning beneath him. He could think of no last words.

            Ronan’s thumb rubbed across Adam’s bottom lip. It stopped in the centre, warm in the dip, pulled the skin down. A shiver ran through Adam’s whole body. Ronan’s fingers were cold against his face, his thumb warm on his lip, all of him tight against him in the tiny closet. Adam’s eyes flickered closed as Ronan’s thumb pulled his lip further down.

            “Ronan,” Adam said, the word almost silent, more of a sigh than a growl. He felt his lips hesitate around the sound, move Ronan’s thumb with them. Then Ronan’s hand dropped, his forehead shifted away.

            “Sorry,” Ronan said.

            Adam wanted to tell him that there was nothing to be sorry about, that if he had any last words, he was glad Ronan’s name was it. But he had no sound for words, no energy for action. His body paralyzed but trembling, he listened to Mr. Czerny’s footsteps approach the closet, heard the jangle of pressure on the doorknob. He closed his eyes again.

            “The police, sir,” a small voice said.

            The pressure on the doorknob released and several new voices filled the space. Adam couldn’t follow all the words, his pulse in his ears. He realized now that Ronan had let go of him, an inch away and yet inexplicably capable of not touching him. Adam felt tears prick his eyes again, let his mind imagine the small voice as Miss Czerny’s. _Breathe._

            _Trust me._

He wished he could say the same thing and pull Ronan close, kiss so much more than just his neck. He sucked in his bottom lip, tasted cloves and tobacco. He sucked until his lip went raw with tastelessness and he finally recognized a voice on the other side of the door.

            Gansey.

            Somehow Gansey had made his way over to the Czerny house in the middle of the night. At the sound of his voice, Adam could feel Ronan relax, the tension leave his body. The multitude of voices left the room, faded, and soon they heard the outer door of the room shut.

            “Are you in here?” Gansey asked.

            Ronan stepped backwards, pushed open the closet door. He said, “You have impeccable timing, Dick.”

            Adam took a moment to collect himself before stepping out after Ronan. He was sure his breath was still heavy, his bottom lip hot red. Perhaps a blush touched his cheeks, but that could be explained away by the heat of the closet and close proximity. Friction was a killer of men, he had been told.

            “I told Mr. Czerny I had been driving by with friends,” Gansey explained. “He thinks you two are downstairs, so we’ll have to get you passed him. You’re lucky I was able to come out as back-up at all.”

            Ronan said, “I knew you wouldn’t let us down.”

            Gansey sighed. “Let’s just go downstairs, shall we?”

            Ronan shook his head. “First, you need to open the safe.”

            Gansey’s eyes widened in disbelief. But he stepped towards the closet anyways and stared at the metal box. He bit his bottom lip. “I’ll need you two to buy me some time.”

            Ronan said, “Happy to.”


	28. Chapter 28

Ronan tried his best to hold his calm, but between nearly getting caught by the police and being pressed up against Adam Parrish in a closet, his nerves were shot. Even now, with space between the two of them and a task at hand, he couldn’t stop asking himself why he’d done it, why he’d touched Adam’s lip. He fought the urge to bring his thumb to his lips and taste Adam’s saliva.

            Adam was right behind him and, knowing the reporter well, Ronan knew he’d understand Ronan’s sudden habit of biting his thumb. He kept his hands at his sides and snuck out of the room, careful to listen for people moving about. He tried to leave Adam at the door as Gansey’s look out, but he would have none of it, and the two of them circled through the hallways to emerge into the foyer by the staircase.

            “Mr. Czerny,” Ronan said. He tempered his voice, cursed himself when it shook. With a smile, he took the older man’s hand. “We saw the police and came to check on you. Is everything all right? Did they catch the man?”

            “I’m afraid you’ve come too soon to ask such questions,” Mr. Czerny said, a frown deepening the lines of his skin. He patted the top of Ronan’s hand and let go. “I found the door to my bedroom kicked in, but no other damage. It seems a servant of mine left the backdoor open. The thief probably got in through there.”

            Ronan nodded, kept his expression a trained neutral. He looked over to Elizabeth, her eyes on her shoes, her arms wrapped tight around her housecoat. He had no idea what to say to her. What was the proper etiquette when speaking to the woman you might marry after breaking into her house while trying to pretend that you only stopped by because of the commotion on the street? He was almost certain the situation hadn’t been covered in school.

            “Miss Czerny,” he said, voice soft, barely a whisper. He waited for golden eyes to meet his and gave the softest of smiles. To his surprise, she smiled right back. “Are you all right?”

            “Quite fine, thank you,” she said.

            Ronan looked back to her father. “You shouldn’t stay here tonight, sir. The thief could be anywhere and how could you sleep with your door broken like that? You and your daughter are of course welcome at the Lynch home until other arrangements can be made.”

            Adam snorted and Ronan shot him a glare. Blank rage still filled him to look at the man’s face. He could no longer tell if he was finally going insane or if Adam was just a tease, one moment friendly and the next impossibly cold. He swayed between the two extremes so frequently that perhaps it was Adam himself who was crazy and Ronan just liked a little inconsistency when it came to his unrequited feelings.

            “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Lynch, but Mr. Gansey has already offered his home as an alternative for sleeping here,” Mr. Czerny said.

            Ronan inclined his head. “That would be the more appropriate choice, sir.”

            “Much more appropriate,” Adam said. He smiled, but the expression failed to reach his eyes. Ronan could see the hairs standing up on the back of Adam’s neck, bristling. He added, “Sir,” with the edge of a smirk.

            Hot desire coursed through Ronan with the word, his eyes flickered sideways to look at Adam. But the man stood stock still, no outwards acknowledgement of what he was doing. Adam had stopped him. Adam had felt his thumb on his lip and _stopped him_. Now here he was potentially teasing the moment, teasing the spark in Ronan’s heart that he just couldn’t wipe out. That desire now battled with anger over the moment in the closet, over Adam’s easy dismissal of him, over Adam’s ability to turn him on with the inflection of a single, one syllable word.

            Ronan huffed. “Mr. Czerny,” he said, “can you think of anyone who might want to cause you harm? Or anything they might be looking to steal?”

            “Nothing.” The lie was obvious, given away by the quick flick of his eyes down the hallway that led to his bedroom. He made no move to go there though, just pulled his daughter closer. “What a terrible tragedy.”

            “Indeed,” Ronan said.

            Mr. Czerny glanced away from them, towards the cops, and frowned. “Where has Mr. Gansey gone? I would like to get out of here as soon as possible, make Elizabeth more comfortable.”

            “I’ll find him for you,” Ronan said, eager to get out of the conversation. He stepped away from the two of them, didn’t even glance at Adam for fear that the man might follow if he did. Just being away from Adam made the line of his shoulders relax. He curled his hands into fists and then uncurled them in a gentle rhythm, tried to bring down his heart rate.

            He stopped at the door to Mr. Czerny’s bedroom and called, “Are you done yet?”

            “You try breaking into a safe in a house full of cops,” Gansey replied. Then, a second later, he said, “Yes, it’s open.”

            Ronan walked over to the closet and looked into the open safe. Multiple leather notebooks, stacks of cash, and the late Mrs. Czerny’s jewels sat clustered on shelves without a seeming order. “Hoarder,” Ronan said. He glanced over his shoulder towards the door. “Grab the books and let’s go. Mr. Czerny is desperate to get out of here and settle his daughter in your house. Probably in hopes that she’ll fall in love with you and use her wiles to pull you into bed, forcing you to marry her instead of Blue.”

            Gansey pulled the notebooks from the safe and then closed it quietly. With the sounds of an old man, he picked himself up off the floor and said, “He’ll have no luck going that route.”

            “Because Blue’s your true love?”

            “Because Miss Czerny may very well be yours,” Gansey replied with a smile. “Have you seen the way she looks at you? I wouldn’t presume the ability to pull her away from you.”

            Ronan thought about the words for a moment, surprised they brought a smile to his face. Never before had someone looked at him with love, with true affection. He was a piece in the machine, an object in an act, but not a person to be loved. And it was true that Elizabeth had golden eyes that found him in any room, a smile that echoed his in all things. Perhaps even the great Richard Campbell Gansey III couldn’t begin to take that away from him.

            “Shall we go save Mr. Parrish?” Gansey said.

            Ronan sighed. “If we must.”


	29. Chapter 29

Gansey refused to let either of them go home. Any other night, Adam might have been up for a late night in Gansey’s bedroom, but that night he was strung out, every inch of him tired, and he would have welcomed his normal nightmares if it meant a soft bed under him. None of these protests mattered to Gansey. He brought Adam and Ronan back to his house, tiptoed up the stairs to his room, and locked them all in.

            Quiet, he said, “Now we have to search through these books for anything that looks suspicious or familiar. Any mention of Niall Lynch, the numbers from the other pages, or Greenmantle should be flagged.”

            “Right now?” Ronan asked, echoing Adam’s thoughts.

            “Yes. We’re close. Can’t you feel it?” Gansey dropped seven journals down on his desk and then sat down. He glanced at both men behind him and said, “You might as well get comfortable. It’ll be a long night.”

            Ronan picked up a journal and turned it over in his hands. Adam watched the ease of his hands over the leather, the swift way he undid the loop of string that bound the pages together. “You want the bed or the floor, Parrish?” Ronan asked.

            Adam blinked, flustered. He opened his mouth to reply, but found no words. His eyes met Ronan’s, dead blue, narrowed with fatigue. It took him a moment to reconcile the comment with the situation and he managed, “I... I’m fine on the floor.”

            Ronan’s reaction to his words was anything but innocent. Parts of his body Adam hadn’t even realized he was able to notice tensed as Ronan’s eyes slipped down the length of Adam’s body to the rug at his feet. Adam looked away, snatched a journal from the top of the pile and then paced the floor, looking for a spot to sit down. Ronan had settled on the bed, surrounded by a massive number of pillows, at home on the silk sheets.

            “Would you please sit?” Gansey asked after a moment. He had a finger under a line in the journal but he didn’t lift his eyes from the page.

            Adam had an apology on his tongue when Ronan said, “Don’t mind Parrish.” He flipped a page in his book and it crackled like a fire. “He’s only afraid I’ll jump him if you leave us alone.”

            Gansey shot his friend a look over his shoulder. “And will you?”

            Adam’s eyes darted back to Ronan, whose gaze was significantly lower on him than it should have been. Adam could feel the man undress him, his fingers on the fabric of his shirt, the loop of his belt. It was so much worse since he actually knew the feeling, Ronan’s touch, remembered from the night his lips had touched his skin. Wet spots reappeared on his neck and he fought the urge to touch them, the scars aggravated by Ronan’s silence.

            “I don’t know,” Ronan said, finally. His eyes met Adam’s but there was nothing in his expression, just dead air.

            Gansey sighed. “Then I won’t leave you two alone.”

            “Thank you,” Adam said, his voice heavy with sincerity. He saw anger flash in Ronan’s eyes, quickly dismissed to focus once more on the pages in front of him, and he knew the other man misunderstood him. Adam wasn’t afraid that Ronan might jump him if they were left alone. Quite the opposite, really.

            Because if Gansey hadn’t been in the room just then and Ronan had been in the same position, his legs parted over the bed sheets, one arm rested crooked over his head, Adam would have made the first move. Even now he was desperate to taste Ronan against his lips, the touch of his thumb already faded, Adam’s lip bright red and raw from sucking. He needed more than second hand contact. Lips on lips, skin on skin, he craved Ronan with every cell in his body.

            He forced himself to sit, to open the notebook, but his mind was still far away. If Gansey wasn’t in the room, Adam would follow the curve of Ronan’s tattoo with his lips. Every inked inch of the man’s skin would be tasted, start to finish, no matter how low the line took him. He would spread his hand across the raven’s beak, feel smooth muscles under his fingertips.

            There would be pleasure in calling Ronan “sir,” the word a rasp against the other man’s ear. Then his lips would be on the edge of Ronan’s ear, down his jaw, across his stubble. Tickled, roughened by the hair, Adam’s lips would touch Ronan’s, dip inside his mouth, and the rest of it would be instinct, pure desire meeting pure desire. Exactly what Ronan had described in the attic of the abandoned house.

            “Adam!” Gansey exclaimed. Adam looked up, sure his cheeks must be red, his whole body betraying him, but Gansey only looked mildly annoyed. “Are you quite deaf?”

            Adam shook his head. “My apologies.”

            “Gray,” Gansey said. “Was that one of the names in the original papers?”

            “Yes.”

            “I found something,” Gansey said. He gestured for both of them to come closer and Adam faltered. Ronan groaned as he rolled off of the bed, all dramatics, but enough to make Adam’s heart skip a beat. He would, he decided. If Gansey left them alone, even for an instant, or they shared a carriage home in the morning, he would.

            “Right here,” Gansey said, once both Adam and Ronan had approached the desk. Gansey’s finger was under a line that said _Gray, 12.32, Greenmantle._

“You have names and a number,” Ronan said. He stepped back and flopped backwards onto the bed. His shirt slipped from the waist of his pants, exposing a patch of skin and a thin line of dark hair on his stomach. “What do you want to do? Call the cops?”

            “Both Gray and Greenmantle are mentioned in the papers from the abandoned house,” Gansey said.

            “The papers that might not even be my father’s,” Ronan said.

            Adam pulled the book towards him and said, “No, Gansey’s right. You said Greenmantle was a place, a territory of the Irish mob’s, yes?” He risked a glance back towards Ronan, who had a hand in the air in a gesture that either dismissed him or told him he was right. “So if Gray is a person and twelve thirty-two a time, perhaps this is a day planner of sorts.”

            “Without dates?” Gansey said.

            “It’s probably in code,” Ronan said. “You need one of the other journals to decipher it, but good luck figuring out which one. These are probably just Elizabeth’s diaries.”

            “A code,” Gansey repeated, as if any of Ronan’s rant had been remotely helpful. He licked his bottom lip. “Except none of these journals are the key, the papers are. Each paper has a set of numbers matched to a word, yes? So if we rearrange the alphabet in every word according to the numbers below them, we’ll decipher these journals and most likely the locations where meetings took place.”

            “And these codes just happen to reform the words that are already written down in the journals?” Ronan said.

            “Maybe. Or maybe you use a certain code based on the words at the top of the page. For instance, on this page you would use the code for Gray on the first twelve words and the code for Greenmantle on the last thirty-two,” Gansey said, his voice low as his thoughts turned. Ronan snorted. “It’s worth a look.”

            “It’s worth nothing,” Ronan said.

            “Mr. Parrish,” Gansey said. “Would you be opposed to going back to your house and bringing the papers here?”

            “Oh, yes,” Ronan said, sarcasm acid. “In the middle of the night, let’s send the paperboy on an errand so that we can decipher spy code that may or may not exist.”

            “You’re welcome to sleep in one of the guest rooms if you’re tired, Ronan,” Gansey said. Ronan didn’t move. “Mr. Parrish?”

            Adam nodded. “I’ll go right now.” Ronan snorted his disapproval.


	30. Chapter 30

How Ronan ended up sleep deprived, bedraggled, and dragged to the psychic shop where Gansey’s true love of the week lived, he had no idea. Sometime in the night he must have slept, because there was no way that nine solid hours of cracking an unbreakable and most likely imaginary code had gone by in a manner that seemed like only eighteen years of his life had passed him by. However, he also felt like he had been hit by a train and then forced to stay awake for weeks on end so that his body wouldn’t fall apart in his sleep.

            After all night on Gansey’s bed, he now sat at a table strewn with tarot cards, writing numbers under inked letters in a leather notebook. Gansey claimed it made the translation easier. Ronan failed to see how that was possible, considering that if they truly were translating anything, his father and Mr. Czerny were fluent in gibberish. But he failed to muster the energy to complain.

            Adam sat across from him at the table, his foot tapping against one of the legs. Blue and Gansey sat side by side on the floor, whispering to each other. Cups of coffee were in front of all of them, served by a plump woman who had a particular disdain for Adam and had turned The Devil card over in front of him with a smile. Ronan had wanted to ask what that meant, but that would mean admitting he was speaking to Adam, which for all intents and purposes, he was not.

            “Is Gray a person?” Gansey asked, possibly for the hundredth time since they had entered the shop.

            And for the hundredth time, Ronan repeated, “Yes. He’s an associate of my father’s.”

            Gansey fell silent again, staring at the piece of paper in front of him. Ronan blinked hard, tried to focus on the rows of letters and numbers in front of him. He had no idea what number came next in the sequence, if there was a sequence at all. Now that his muscle memory had failed him, his body seized to work at all. He took a sip of his coffee, black and more like liquid tar than a beverage.

            “Gray is a person and Greenmantle is a place,” Gansey muttered.

            “Please never say that again,” Ronan groaned.

            Adam’s foot tapped the table leg harder, made the whole structure rumble.

            “And stop that,” Ronan snapped.

            Watery blue eyes looked up at him, tired but not beaten by the long night like Ronan had been. Of course Adam was better at hard labour than him, roughened by years of work and no ability to call home when he got a failing grade on a test or assignment. Adam said nothing, simply stilled his foot against the table leg and kept staring at Ronan, as if his movements had also ceased to function.

            Ronan looked away first, his eyes drooping as he focussed back on the page. Twenty minutes later, Gansey left and Blue joined them at the table. “If he’s gone, why am I here?” Ronan asked.

            “Be quiet,” Blue snapped.

            Ronan flipped the page of the notebook before he was done with it and Blue flipped it back, her fingers spread across the page. She was working on Gansey’s abandoned translations, trying to make out words in the gibberish. One word caught Ronan’s attention.

            “That’s Russian,” he said.

            “Excuse me?” Blue asked.

            Ronan tapped the word with his finger. “It means ‘now.’ ” Adam snorted and Ronan looked up at him as he rolled his eyes. Sleep deprivation made Ronan’s anger come back hot, ready, even though Adam had barely done a thing. “Would you like to say something, Mr. Parrish?”

            “No, Mr. Lynch.”

            “If you have a problem with me or anything I say,” Ronan said, “I would prefer if you come out and say it instead of hiding behind that ridiculous smirk and Gansey’s unwavering protection of you.”

            “Are you jealous?” Adam asked, his blue eyes alight.

            “Jealous?”

            “That Gansey protects me over you.”

            Ronan snorted. “Gansey’s in bed with your ex. I think his preference is more pity than it is charity.”

            Adam’s knuckles curled white around the edge of the journal he was writing in. His jaw was tight, teeth clicking together. “I need neither pity nor charity,” he said.

            “And yet you constantly ask for both.”

            “Boys,” Blue warned. “You’re supposed to be reading.”

            Ronan paid her no mind. Adam’s eyes sparked, all his muscles tensed, and Ronan wondered what the hell he had to be mad about. He got to play all his games, string Ronan along, and then back away at the precise moment he wanted. Every word from his cracked lips was a taunt and the game he played Ronan couldn’t follow. Not attracted to men, but inexplicably Ronan’s torturer. Or perhaps Ronan had made it all up in his head, every signal he had read from Adam’s direction, every time he had felt eyes on his bare skin.

            “Let Mr. Parrish read,” Ronan said. He tossed his book across the table, scattering the papers Blue was working on and bumping into Adam’s notebook. A line ran across the page, Adam’s numbers turning to scribbles. “He’s the one who’s good at this sort of thing. Menial tasks. Manual labour. The likes.”

            “You’re right,” Adam said, his voice surprisingly calm. But it was only the eye of the storm, blue light burning inside of him. “I am good at this, at numbers, letters, patterns, codes. What are you good at, Mr. Lynch? Smoking? Shooting? Bending a man over a table?”

            Ronan let out a light breath of a laugh. “You want me to show you how?”

            “No, thank you, _sir_.” His lips popped around the word.

            Ronan stood, built-up anger fire in his veins. He leaned over the table, as close to Adam as he dared to get. His breath fluttered through Adam’s hair, made the man purse his lips. “Do you want to take this outside, Mr. Parrish? Settle it like men?”

            Blue eyes sparked, far from innocent. “I would love to.”

            Ronan was just about to move when Blue’s hand wrapped around his arm. He was pushed down into his chair, Adam the same. Blue snapped, “Gansey did not leave me in charge so that I could let the two of you kill each other.”

            “Please,” Ronan said. “Parrish wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

            “He’s got quite the temper, actually,” Blue said. She slapped the notebook back in front of Ronan. “Read.”

            But her words distracted from her command. The tightness of Adam’s muscles, the fierceness with which he held Ronan’s gaze, was so much more intoxicating with a real anger behind it. He felt a thrill run through his body at the thought, the thought that Adam Parrish could do some real damage, and licked his bottom lip, watched Adam follow the line of his tongue. Adam’s foot tapped against the table leg.

            “Stop. That.”

            “Make me.”

            “Let’s take this outside, shall we, Mr. Parrish?”

            “Whatever you want, sir.”

            Blue’s hand was on Ronan’s arm again. He felt the breath go through her, anger much more present in her than in any woman trained to keep herself in check. She looked between the two of them, gaze hard. “I am not explaining two black eyes to Gansey tomorrow. Do you understand me?”

            Ronan snorted. “Please. Mr. Parrish wouldn’t get a punch in.”

            “But I would,” she snapped. “Read. Your. Book.”

            Ronan glanced from her to Adam, who already looked cowed by her admonishment. He must have imagined the rage there, the easy power that ran under Adam’s clothes. Turning his eyes back to the book, Ronan wrote a twelve under an A and moved on to the next page. Adam’s foot tapped the table leg again, but Ronan’s burst of energy was gone. Let Adam tease him. He needed to sleep.

            He flopped the book closed, intent on telling Blue he was done for the day, but paused when he saw the next word on her page. “That’s also Russian,” he said. He shifted closer to her. “Is this a new code?”

            “I switched after Gansey left,” she said.

            “All of it is Russian.”

            “What’s it say?” Adam asked.

            Ronan tried not to let his voice grate against his ears. “I don’t speak Russian,” he said.

            “Just the commands?”

            Ronan smirked, let his lips curl as he stared at Adam, and he saw the other man falter in his confidence. Tapping the page on the table, Ronan said, “I may not know what it says, not all of it, but I can tell you one thing. If Mr. Czerny has Russian notebooks in his hands mentioning Mr. Gray and Greenmantle, that must have something to do with our case.”

            “We should go down there,” Blue said.

            Ronan snorted. “Yes, because I would take a lady to the docks.”

            Blue’s fire eyes turned on him, turned him to stone. “Has you have pointed out on more than one occasion, Mr. Lynch, I am not a lady. And since it was my idea, it’d be terribly rude to go without me.”

            Adam started to protest, his words blurring in Ronan’s tired mind. But Blue simply stared at him as he spoke, none of his warnings getting through to her. Halfway through his speech, or maybe only a couple of sentences in, Ronan said, “Fine. You can come. But you keep your mouth shut and you do exactly what I tell you.” He levelled his gaze on her to add, “Gansey did not leave me with you so that you’d wind up dead.”


	31. Chapter 31

Adam knew the docks were cold, littered with vagrants, and a very dangerous place to be. What he didn’t expect were the number of vagrants that shied away when they saw Ronan coming or how easily Ronan left his gun exposed, his hand on its hilt, ready to fire.

            Blue walked between them, wrapped up in multiple coats and scarves until it was nearly impossible to tell if she was a girl or a boy. Still Adam walked close to her, afraid that the eyes that lingered on them would call Ronan’s bluff and take them on. At least Adam hoped it was a bluff, a play for less attention.

            As they walked, the sun started to set, early in the day. Streetlights came on one by one, a dull orange light following them as they walked. The shipyards were empty, boats abandoned to the ice floats. Every once in a while a shout could be heard, the movements of a shipment, but Ronan gave strict instructions not to look up for any sound, any sight.

            The sun was gone by the time they turned a corner and the light that surrounded them turned from orange to green. Adam looked up at the lamps, old gas mantles that flickered with eerie light. _Greenmantle._

“No need to look so scared,” Ronan said. “This is Irish territory, perfectly safe.” As if to prove his point, he dropped his hand from his gun and let his coat fall back into place.

            “Where are we going?” Adam asked. “Or are we just going to wander around hoping to spot something?”

            Ronan said, “It wasn’t my idea to come here.”

            Both men glanced towards Blue who had her jaw set against the cold. “Certainly you know someone around here who could tell you about Mr. Czerny or Mr. Gray?”

            Adam glanced towards Ronan. His ears were red, the cold creeping across his pale skin. “Perhaps,” Ronan said. “But it’s not going to be as easy as knocking on someone’s door and asking for help. And if my brother hears I’ve been poking around down here...” He clicked his tongue and took a right.

            Adam and Blue followed in silence, Adam listening to the click of Ronan’s leather shoes on the cobblestones. Warehouses rose around them, mixed with small apartment buildings that looked more like tenements, places for the workers to live. A metallic crash sounded in one of the squat concrete buildings and Blue jumped. Her hand wrapped around Adam’s and he squeezed it tightly.

            At the end of a row of buildings, a green door stood ajar at the entrance to a warehouse. Ronan paused, leaned in, and then knocked three times on the wood. All three of them waited in silence, then Ronan closed the door and kept going.

            “Who works there?” Adam asked.

            “Don’t know.”

            “Are you in the habit of knocking on random people’s doors in mob territory?”

            Ronan looked back at him, his expression bored. “This is mine. All of this. If your feet touch the stones and those stones are green, then you’re safe.”

            “Even though your father was killed here?” Adam asked. He knew now why he recognized the brick buildings, the odd quality of the streetlights. The paper that had reported Niall Lynch’s death hadn’t known the mob’s name for the territory, how could they have, but the street names were mentioned. Albany and Seaport. They stood in the intersection now.

            Ronan swallowed and glanced to the street signs. “Shootings happen all the time.”

            “Ronan, I don’t think we’re safe here,” Adam said. His mind raced through the newspaper report, everything he knew about the mob and its territories. He remembered, vaguely, hearing that Declan was trying to pull the Lynches out of their bad name and into legitimatized business. “Your father was killed here.”

            “Yes, thank you, I’m perfectly aware,” Ronan snapped. He pulled in his bottom lip though and his hand went back to the gun at his side. Eyes darted to the buildings, but it was unclear what he was looking for. “It’s still Irish territory,” he said, but it felt like the words were for him and not them.

            Adam and Blue crowded closer even though Ronan still walked right down the centre of the narrow street. A cold breeze whipped around them, caused Blue’s breath to billow white around them. “I can feel your heartbeats,” Ronan said. Both of them were pressed up against his back and their breath must have been warm on his neck.

            Adam pulled back slightly, placed Blue between them. She made no protest at being protected, a rarity for her. A crash sounded nearby and she jumped. Then a shot. “We should go,” Adam said.

            Ronan ignored him and turned them towards the sound. He pressed closer to the walls, all of them crawling along until they heard the sound of two men shouting. “The next one will be in your leg!” a man shouted. Ronan poked his head around the corner, cursed. “Get off my damned porch, you filthy traitor!”

            Adam closed his eyes, sent up a silent prayer. Then he crept past Ronan to look out at the men on the street. The man with the gun stood in a green doorway and waved his weapon drunkenly. The man across from him, dressed all in grey, held his hands up in a loose version of surrender. He said, “There’s no need for name calling.”

            “You’re not getting this house.” The man with the gun spat. “You can take whatever else you like, the warehouse next door, all the buildings around me here, but this has been my family home for years. It will not be yours.”

            “You forget what I’ve done,” the man said. “What I can do.”

            “And what have you done?”

            “I killed Niall Lynch.”

            Adam felt Ronan exhale against the back of his neck. With the two of them poking their heads out, their bodies were pressed tight together, all of Ronan’s heat leaching out of him and onto Adam’s back. Adam held his breath and Blue bustled between them, using her lack of height to her advantage and sneaking closer to the corner.

            “Mr. Gray. That’s Mr. Gray,” Ronan said. “Bastard.”

            The man with the gun scoffed, but his hand shook. “Leave,” he said, “before I put a bullet between your traitorous eyes.”

            “Do you really think you can?”

            The man cocked his gun. “I’m willing to try.”

            Mr. Gray doffed his hat and Adam heard Ronan’s thin inhale. “My apologies,” he said. He took a step back. “I’ll have to return with reinforcements.”

            “The entire Russian army couldn’t make me move from this house,” the man snapped. “Bring what you can, whatever you can. My blood will stain these walls before Russian feet walk the halls.”

            “If we must repaint, we will.”

            Adam ducked back around the corner, pulled Ronan and Blue with him. Mr. Gray’s footsteps came down the cobblestone path, close to them. Before Adam could ask where to go, Ronan shoved all of them backwards, all their hearts pounding loud enough to hear, and shoved the three of them into a broken down doorway.

            Barely breathing, Adam stood pressed against Blue. She faced him, her head turned to the side, and he pressed his chin to the top of her head. Behind him, Ronan held him in place, his breath scattering Adam’s hair, all of him tense with the rush of the moment. “Breathe, Adam,” Blue whispered.

            They waited in silence until the footsteps passed, but still Ronan didn’t move. Adam was somewhat aware that Ronan had his hand on his gun, ready to turn and shoot if necessary. Adam had made himself breathe, but his lungs couldn’t expand in the small space and it was hard to swallow around his heart in his throat. It was almost a relief when Ronan stepped back. Adam heard the click of a gun going back in its holster.

            “We need to get out of here,” Blue said, her voice surprisingly steady. Neither of the men argued and Ronan walked quickly through the streets, his hand on his gun, pressed close to the walls. Adam’s fingers wrapped firmly around Blue’s, the two of them each other’s anchor, neither sure who needed more support.

            The lights became orange again and Adam relaxed, his breath coming out in a puff. Ronan said, “Stay sharp. This is all Russian territory.” And Adam forced his body back into tension, too tired to argue, too tired to keep up the height of his fear. At least they were no longer standing where Niall Lynch had been shot.

            They found Ronan’s carriage again and he stopped by the driver. “Take these two back to their homes. Make sure they get inside before you leave them.” He pressed several bills into the driver’s hand.

            As Adam helped Blue into the carriage, he said, “Where are you going?”

            Ronan said, “I need a drink.”

            “At least take your own carriage,” Adam said. “You can’t stay around here, knowing what you do now.”

            “And what’s that?” Ronan replied. “That one of my father’s enforcer’s killed him? That the Russians were behind it the whole time? What’s keeping me from staying here, Adam, and making things right?”

            Adam stared at him, scared of the broken spark in his blue eyes. “I am.”

            Something like a smile, maybe half a snort, left Ronan. He shook his head. “I’ll see you at the wedding, Mr. Parrish.” Then Ronan’s hands were on his hips, lifting him into the carriage, and the door slammed behind him.

            Adam stared at Blue, sitting in the corner, a haunted look in her eyes. “Are you all right?” Adam asked, even as he looked back out the window, desperate to see Ronan one more time, to try to convince him not to do anything stupid.

            “No,” Blue said.

            Adam took her hand.


	32. Chapter 32

Ronan, despite what Adam thought, was not as stupid as he looked. Even if he itched to go back, to follow Mr. Gray wherever he had gone and beat the living daylights out of him, he knew the Russians would have their traitor followed, accounted for, checking in every minute or three. There was no possible scenario in which going after Mr. Gray alone, in the middle of the night, did not end up with him dead or severely injured.

            Therefore Ronan did exactly what he said he would do. He found a bar, one outside of Russian territory, and had a drink. Or eight. And even then he couldn’t get Adam’s two words out of his head, the desperate plea of _I am._ But Ronan knew better than to hope, especially now that one of the last people he trusted was a traitor. Adam had thought he was walking into a suicide mission. He would have said anything.

            Returning to the house, Ronan made no effort to be quiet. The house was alive around him, hungry with its groans, and the locks only kept the monsters inside. Declan’s office door was closed, not even a light under it. Ronan dropped his coat and holster in the hallway, then walked straight to the back stairs and held himself steady against the narrow walls, despite not being nearly as drunk as he wanted to be.

            He stepped into his bedroom and dropped his vest to the floor. It was a moment before he realized there was a candle in the window, burning, and that even if he had left it there, it would have gone out quite some time ago. He reached for his gun on instinct, but his hand wrapped around thin air.

            “How’d you get in here?” Ronan asked, his eyes searching the shadows for a figure. “Is Declan dead already?”

            “Declan’s not the issue,” a voice said. And, even though the voice was steady, not rough and gravelly like Ronan was used to, he recognized it in an instant. His eyes turned to the corner where Kavinsky stood and the man stepped out into the small pool of light by the window. “You are.”

            Ronan held Kavinsky’s dark gaze. Shadows played across his thin face, making him a thing of nightmares, a black skull. Ronan closed the door to his room and stepped closer. “Don’t the Russians give a warning?”

            “Gansey got a warning,” Kavinsky said. “We figured that was good enough.”

            “We?” Ronan asked. He smiled, stepped close enough that Kavinsky wouldn’t even need a gun to kill him. He could reach out and strangle him, stab him. “Are you on the inside track now, K? Headed for management?”

            “That’s what they say.”

            “And that’s why you’re here?”

            Kavinsky’s grip on the gun solidified, no longer loose. His other hand curled into a fist that betrayed his nonchalant shrug. “I’m a hired gun, Lynch. You knew that when you met me. You can’t tell me that you didn’t think it would end like this.”

            Ronan said, “So shoot me.”

            Kavinsky grinned, wide and feral. “Come now, Lynch. You know I like to play with my food.” He grabbed the front of Ronan’s shirt and pulled him in for a kiss. Ronan tasted blood at the back of his throat, an open wound on the inside of Kavinsky’s jaw. Then he was shoved back and he managed to regain his balance before he flopped back onto the bed.

            “What happened?” Ronan asked. He wiped his lips, spit metal onto the floor. “Did someone see me today?”

            “Today?” Kavinsky said. “No. You and your reporter were out asking questions. A cop saw the two of you in the Hamptons. We’re not so completely incompetent that we couldn’t put together those pieces.” He tsked. “Seriously, Lynch. You come around to the Czerny’s asking questions, show up at the scene of a robbery, and the only thing missing is notebooks? Did you not think we would figure that out?”

            Ronan shrugged. “Russians are quite stupid.” He humphed as Kavinsky shoved the barrel of the gun into his ribs, but didn’t move back. “Case and point being you.”

            “Do you forget who’s in control here?” Kavinsky hissed. He jabbed the gun further into Ronan’s ribs and Ronan finally stepped back, his heel hitting the wooden bed frame.

            “Since when are you ever in control?”

            Kavinsky flipped off the safety. “Now is not the time to make me mad, Lynch.”

            Ronan stared into Kavinsky’s eyes, tried not to betray how fast his heart was beating. He licked his bottom lip. “You think I’m scared of you, Joe?” He noted Kavinsky’s flinch. “You forget what I know about you, what I’ve _done_ to you. Did you really think you could just walk in here and convince me to take a bullet for you?”

            “What the hell does that mean?”

            “It means you’re not going to shoot me.” Ronan swallowed quickly after the words left his mouth. He could feel the bruise the gun barrel would make if it didn’t make a hole in his kidney first. Kavinsky’s knuckles pressed into the buttons of Ronan’s shirt, his fingers tapped uneasily against the fabric. “Don’t try to fool yourself.”

            Kavinsky sighed. “As always, Lynch, you’re wrong.”

            Ronan grabbed Kavinsky’s arm and twisted it, held his breath in a prayer that Kavinsky’s finger wouldn’t slip on the trigger. He grasped the gun, pulled it from Kavinsky’s fingers, and wrestled the Russian onto the bed, back against the covers. Ronan pressed his knees to Kavinsky’s hips, hovered over him, breathing hard. His fingers were numb against the gun, silver in the candlelight. He steadied it with his other hand and raised the barrel to point it between Kavinsky’s eyes.

            Kavinsky heaved out a breath, smiled. “I knew you had it in you, Lynch.”

            Ronan looked down at the man under him, memorized the position they’d been in so many times before. No effort required to keep the gun steady, he wondered over his own calm. Taking a deep breath, Ronan stepped back. His feet hit the floor too hard and, for a split second, his aim wavered.

            “You’re not going to chicken out, are you?”

            “No,” Ronan said. He steadied the gun. “I just like this shirt.” He pulled the trigger. The gun clattered to the floor, metal a drum against loose floorboards.

            Blood spread across his sheets faster than he thought it would. His stomach turned, more from alcohol than the sight of Kavinsky bleeding out. And he stood perfectly still, the candlelight flickering over his face, until he heard someone banging on his door. Ronan turned his head to look and Declan stepped into the room.

            Wide-eyed, Declan whispered, “What the hell did you do?”

            Ronan kicked the gun. “What I had to.”

            The brothers shared a moment of silence, both looking at the dead hit man on Ronan’s bed. Declan moved first, his instincts kicking in faster, and he worked with such precision that Ronan was suddenly sure he’d done it before. When or for whom, Ronan didn’t ask. He just did what his brother said, desperate to leave the room as soon as possible.


	33. Chapter 33

Adam couldn’t sleep and now he couldn’t blame it on the nightmares. He had turned enough of those into daydreams that he no longer considered them a threat, no longer blamed the darkness for what went on in his head. No, he stayed up long past midnight worried that Ronan Lynch might be bleeding out somewhere, cobblestones running red, and the man who murdered his father free. Which was why when someone knocked on his door well after midnight, he answered faster than he should have.

            Ronan stood in his doorway, clothes disheveled, hair dusted with dirt. He was down to his once white shirt and his pants, his shoes splattered with mud. His whole body dragged down, a servant to gravity. And his eyes, usually so alive or completely dull, now had faded to a colour that wasn’t quite blue anymore, fatigue lining his eyes and his lips nearly purple.

            “What happened?” Adam asked.

            “Kavinsky’s dead.”

            “How?”

            “I shot him.”

            Adam stared at Ronan, took in his appearance again. The dirt in his hair, the sweat at his collar, all signs that he had been pushed well past his limits late at night. Adam felt a pang run through him, deep spikes in his veins. This was the second night in a row Ronan had gotten no sleep and Adam had stayed up with him in some respect, oblivious to the darkness passing him by.

            “Come in,” Adam said. He stepped out of the way, waited for Ronan to stumble into his tiny apartment. The whole place was dusted with dirt already, a small kitchen in the corner, a bed beside it, and a table in the middle of an otherwise empty patch of floor. “Sit. Do you want some tea?”

            Ronan made no response, but Adam put on the kettle anyways. He sat down across from Ronan at the table, silent, and tried not to search for words to fill the silence. The steam whistle of the kettle filled the space, loud enough to drown out Adam’s thoughts and hopefully Ronan’s as well.

            When Adam had poured the tea and set the cup in front of Ronan, he finally said, “What happened?”

            “He came to kill me.”

            “Because of our investigation?”

            Ronan nodded, his eyes dead weight on the cup in front of him. He spun it on the table, didn’t flinch when boiling liquid splattered across his fingers. Adam reached across the table to stop him, hot liquid burning his skin, and Ronan finally met his eyes.

            “Did you mean it?” Ronan asked.

            “Mean what?”

            There was a moment’s hesitation, a bright spot in Ronan’s eyes, then he shook his head. He took his hand back from Adam and raised the cup to his lips, drinking too fast not to scald his throat.

            Adam took a sip of his own tea, listened to the church bells ring down the street. Three in the morning. They had been up for two days and anyone else, anyone but Ronan Lynch, would have been in tears just from the strain of staying awake, let alone being forced to kill a friend. But Ronan was still, a statue against the night, showing no signs of needing or craving sleep. He placed the cup back down on the table, empty, and spun it again. He gave up two spins in, not amused without the burning liquid coming off its edges.

            “I’m sorry,” Adam said.

            Ronan raised his eyes to his. “For what?”

            “Kavinsky.”

            Ronan shrugged.

            “You...” Adam searched for the right words. He could just come out and say it, but that seemed too crude for the moment, and he knew Ronan would be annoyed by an unnecessary mention of what he did or didn’t do with men. “You knew him.”

            “Yes, I did,” Ronan agreed. His eyes flickered away from Adam’s and around the apartment. For a moment, Adam thought that was all he would get out of him, but then Ronan said, “I knew him. I fought with him. I slept with him. He should’ve been the closest person in the world to me.”

            Adam swallowed, nervous to have Ronan’s eyes on the apartment instead of him. Ronan’s breath pooled, cold white, in the air between them. Adam wrapped his hand around his tea cup to warm his fingers.

            “I don’t even care,” Ronan said.

            “Excuse me?”

            “Kavinsky. I don’t... I can’t feel bad about what I did to him. I can’t find a reason to be sad about it.” Ronan met Adam’s eyes again and now, for the first time, Adam saw the glitter of tears in them. “Is that awful?”

            Adam shook his head. “He would’ve killed you. You made the right choice.”

            “In the moment, of course,” Ronan said. His voice became strained, desperate. “He would have killed me, so I killed him first. And after I was numb. In the dirt, I was numb. But now... now there’s nothing left to do but grieve and I... I can’t.”

            “He tried to kill you,” Adam repeated.

            “He loved me,” Ronan said, and his voice broke over the word _love_. He held his hand to his face for a moment and, when he moved his hand, his lips were stained with blood. “He came there knowing he couldn’t kill me, knowing I would pull the trigger instead... and I did.”

            Adam pursed his lips, searching for words. There was little he could say, but he tried. “His bosses would’ve killed him if you didn’t. And slower probably. You did him a favour.”

            “But shouldn’t it still hurt?” Ronan asked. “Shouldn’t some part of me mourn the loss of the only man who’s ever stayed in my life? Shouldn’t...” He paused to breathe, his tears dangerously close to dripping onto his cheeks. “I don’t understand why I didn’t love him.”

            Adam took Ronan’s hand over the table. He was struck by the cold of his skin, the uneven patches of warmth on the back of his hand. “It’s all right,” Adam said, his voice soft. “Everything is all right.”

            “There’s something wrong with me.”

            “I suspect that’s true of most people.”

            Ronan shook his head. Pushing back from the table, he got to his feet and said, “I should go. I’m sorry I disturbed you.”

            “Ronan,” Adam said. He got to his feet too, moved fast to reach the door before Ronan did. “Where are you going?”

            “Home.”

            “You can’t...” Adam trailed off, unsure of what to say. He stared at Ronan, at his rolled up sleeves, at his lack of coat. “You’ll freeze.”

            Ronan shrugged.

            “I can’t let you go out there, not like that.”

            “It’s fine, Mr. Parrish,” Ronan said. His voice was tired now, lilted in a musical way it normally wasn’t. “It’s always been said that the Lynch boys are cold-blooded. Besides, there’s nowhere for me to sleep here.”

            Adam said, “You can have the bed.”

            “And where will you sleep?”

            Adam swallowed. “I’m used to the floor.” He kept his eyes trained on Ronan, tried not to flinch at the sudden pity that flooded them. His heart was at the base of his throat, his only goal to keep Ronan from leaving. He didn’t know how he was aware that if he let Ronan go the man would do something stupid, something to get himself in a shallow grave right next to Kavinsky, but he knew. He knew guilt in a man’s eyes and Ronan was drowning in it.

            “It’s quite cold,” Ronan said.

            “It is,” Adam agreed, relaxing at the thought that he’d won.

            “And you seem to be lacking any blankets.”

            “Oh,” Adam said. He glanced towards his bed, the two sheets pulled up to the pillows. One brown blanket lay over half the small bed, barely large enough to cover a man’s feet. “Well, that’s... I’m sure...”

            “I wonder if you might keep me warm?”

            Adam met Ronan’s eyes and they were innocent. He licked his lips. “Well... yes, I suppose...” He swallowed, cleared his throat. “I could do that.”

            He didn’t know what he’d expected to follow his acceptance, but it wasn’t for Ronan to step away from him and walk towards the bed alone. Adam followed, nervous nausea inside him, and watched Ronan crawl under the covers, shift up against the wall. He held the covers up silently and Adam removed his shoes before slipping into the bed with him. To stay on the mattress, he had to curl tight around Ronan, his knees matched with Ronan’s, his toes on the backs of Ronan’s ankles.

            “Stop breathing so heavy,” Ronan grumbled.

            “Sorry,” Adam whispered. His heart had disintegrated into tiny cells flooding through his body, making every inch of his skin beat with his rapid pulse. He felt frozen under the covers as he tried to regulate his breath, make it even against the back of Ronan’s neck. Long after Ronan’s breath had fallen into the smooth rhythms of sleep, Adam allowed his own eyes to close.


	34. Chapter 34

“Forgive me father, for I have sinned,” Ronan said. He could see his breath in the confessional but refused to curl up for warmth. His back straight against the wood wall, he kept his eyes closed as he recited the familiar words. “It’s been three weeks since my last confession.”

            His voice caught before he could say the next words. A low hum came from his throat. He had woken early, only four or five hours of sleep, and snuck out of Adam’s apartment before the reporter could wake. He refused to wake to Adam’s pity, to his insistence that Ronan was a decent person. Staying the night had been a mistake, one Adam had let him make.

            “What are your sins, my child?” the priest asked.

            Ronan let himself smile. “You know my chosen sin very well, father.”

            “Sodomy.”

            Ronan nodded. “Sodomy.”

            Ronan counted the holes in the grate of the confessional’s door. Weak light flickered in, the winter sun dull inside the church, nearly black in the wooden box. The priest’s breath was nonexistent, his presence ghostly, and Ronan wondered if he had heard a voice at all or merely imagined it due to his sleep deprivation. Perhaps he was still sleeping, curled in Adam’s arms, warm instead of frostbitten.

            “Something tells me that sodomy is not the reason you’re here,” the priest said.

            Ronan turned his head towards the opening between them, rubbed holy oil between his fingers. “I killed a man.”

            “Why?”

            “He was going to kill me.”

            “Certainly you know that self-defence is not a sin, my son,” the priest said. His voice was aggravatingly soft, slipping through the grates of the confessional like there was nothing but air between them. Ronan huffed out a breath, oxygen stuck in his lungs. “Perhaps there’s another reason you’re here.”

            “Sodomy is a sin of the flesh,” Ronan said. His eyes wandered up to where God watched him from. Ronan felt his heart twist, the weight of his sins suddenly too much on his shoulders. He swallowed hard.

            “Yes, my son.”

            “I may...” Ronan closed his eyes again, sent up a silent prayer, as if God could protect him from the judgement of a priest. With a small exhale, the edge of a laugh, he said, “I think I let it go beyond the flesh.”

            “What do you mean?” The shadows of the priest’s jaw played across the confessional, his words bounced between the two sections.

            “I think I’m in love.” Ronan’s heart untwisted at the words and he hung his head. The priest’s silence filled the space with a weight, the kind of weight that meant God’s own judgement was worse than that of his chosen. “Don’t worry, father. He doesn’t love me back.”

            “You don’t love him at all,” the priest said, calm. “Love is fostered only between a man and a woman, after a marriage. You know this well, my child. We’ve argued these points before.”

            “I know, father.”

            “What is it that makes you bring up love again?”

            Ronan shook his head. “I don’t know, father. How can God forgive me for my sins?”

            The priest gave him his penitence, blessed him, and sent him from the confessional. Ronan left the small wooden box feeling hollow, his heart no longer in chest or anywhere else inside of him. He thought of Adam’s breath on the back of his neck and dismissed it quickly, too fresh from confession to begin to sin again.

            He took a carriage back to his house and had the butler let him in. The house held an early morning quiet Ronan had never known it could achieve. Fatigue moved through the air, but when Ronan came to the door of Declan’s office, it was ajar. He knocked twice and his brother looked up.

            “Ronan,” Declan said. “Sit.”

            Ronan did as he was told, ready for another lecture. Certainly now he deserved it, a man’s blood on his hands, the start of a potential war in front of him, and a name to put to his father’s death, but no proof or evidence. He had spent the night not drunk with a gaggle of whores or high in a Russian’s bed, but silent and asleep with Adam wrapped around him, protecting him from the dark.

            “I spoke to Mr. Czerny this morning,” Declan said. “He thinks ample time has passed for his daughter to be betrothed once more and he wishes for you to extend your proposal in the coming days.”

            “Very well.”

            Declan tapped his pen against the book in front of him and then closed it. Ronan met his brother’s eyes, too empty to be sick over what he might say. “Ronan, I’m going to need you to commit to this marriage,” he said. “I don’t want to dictate how you live your life and I know that if I did, you would just do the opposite. But the Czerny’s are incredibly important people and having them on our side is very important right now. Especially after what happened last night.”

            “I’m aware.”

            “I expect you to be good to Miss Czerny.”

            “And I expect to be good to her,” Ronan replied.

            Declan stared at him for a moment, unblinking, then opened the book again. “One last thing before I send you off to get some sleep. You look like you’ve been run over by a herd of horses.”

            “I feel worse than that.”

            “We need to talk about father’s business and what it means now that—”

            “I’ve killed Kavinsky?” Ronan finished. He challenged his brother’s tempered gaze, faked a smile. “I suppose that threw a wrench into your plans to legitimatize the family business?”

            Declan said, “There was never enough left over after cleaning up the business to come out with a profit. All you did was push me towards finally admitting the task was impossible. But, since it is impossible, it’s no longer prudent for me to keep you out of it.” He turned the book around on the desk and pointed to a row of numbers. “This is money owed and these are the people who owe it.”

            Half an hour was spent in that room, Ronan’s tired brain trying to grasp concepts he had no interest in. Declan sent him to bed before he was finished with the lesson and Ronan thanked him, happy to get back to his bed, to finally sleep for a substantial amount of time.


	35. Chapter 35

For two days, the only way Adam knew Ronan was okay, that he hadn’t snuck out in the middle of the night and gotten himself killed, was because Gansey wasn’t worried about him or devastated by his loss. Adam continued to write articles to boost Blue’s image and tried not to wonder if he could go over to the Lynch house to check on Ronan.

            He had stopped for the third time at the end of the third paragraph of his new article in order to ponder this problem again. He knew he had to write faster, the wedding was days away, but he kept thinking of Ronan’s haunted eyes, the larger-than-life man curled in a small ball in his bed, his tears shed dry. Three hours before his shift ended, before he had promised to meet Gansey to go over the details of the other night with him, and he couldn’t stand the waiting. Ronan would be there, hopefully okay, and Adam would finally be able to calm down.

            Mr. Whelk bumped into the side of Adam’s desk and Adam looked up, sudden panic in his chest. “The article will be done in an hour,” he said. “Two, tops.”

            “I need this wedding announcement written for tomorrow’s paper,” Mr. Whelk said like he hadn’t heard a word of Adam’s. He dropped a piece of paper on Adam’s desk and started to walk away.

            Adam looked down at the two names. “Mr. Whelk,” Adam said, “You’ve got this wrong.” His editor looked back at him, eyes beady over wire glasses. “It says... Ronan Lynch and Elizabeth Czerny.”

            “And?”

            “They...” Adam faltered over the words. The image of Ronan and Elizabeth alone in a hallway, pressed against each other, lips touching, flooded his senses. “They can’t be getting married. You must have gotten one of the names wrong.” _His name,_ Adam added silently.

            Mr. Whelk shook his head. “I just heard from Mr. Czerny himself. Mr. Gansey confirmed it.” He snapped his fingers. “Written. By the end of the day.”

            Adam nodded, his mind blank. He looked back at the piece of paper in his hand, the two names scrawled in Whelk’s messy handwriting. His heart, in the middle of his throat, made it impossible to swallow, to breathe. Hand trembling, he stood up from his desk and passed the note to the reporter beside him. “Write this, would you?” Adam said. “I have somewhere I have to be.”

            “I’m not covering for you,” the reporter said.

            “That’s fine,” Adam breathed out the words. He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and rushed out of the office, unsure what he intended to do. Cold air froze his lungs, the snot in his nose, and cleared his head. Gulping in air in the winter was not an option, as his heart would stop before he got his lungs back in control. His head spun, all of him dizzy, and he swallowed hard before catching a carriage.

            He directed the driver to the Gansey’s. The whole way there he repeated _breathe_ over and over again to himself, tried to keep his heart under control. Ronan Lynch to marry Elizabeth Czerny. _Ronan Lynch, son of Mr. and Mrs. Niall Lynch, esteemed Cambridge scholar and graduate, announces his betrothal to Miss Elizabeth Czerny, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Noah Czerny, a lady straight from the finest of finishing schools, a true golden beauty._ The words made his stomach turn. The words would be in the paper tomorrow, whether he wrote them or not.

            He handed more cash than he could afford to lose to the driver and stood frozen outside the Gansey’s household. Above him, the building stared down, its windows dark and glaring. He walked up the steps stiffly, knocked twice, and waited until the butler let him in.

            “Is Mr. Gansey III here?” Adam asked.

            “In his room, sir,” the butler said. “Do you know the way?”

            “I do, thank you.” Adam started up the stairs, his heart in his chest. What would he even say? Could he even ask Gansey about the engagement calmly? Was there any way that Gansey opposed the union, had a problem with his best friend feeding off of his leftovers? Adam couldn’t imagine that he would, since it would mean Ronan would be married to a woman, no longer living a life of sin.

            With one last breath, Adam knocked on the door to Gansey’s room and heard a lazy, “Come in,” from the other side. He stepped in and saw Ronan lying back on Gansey’s bed, his head turned away from the door. When he looked up, his eyes on Adam’s, he said, “Thought you were working ‘til the end of the day.”

            “How could you?” Adam said.

            Ronan raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

            Adam backed into the door, waited for it to click closed. “How could you?” he asked again, not sure where the words came from but certain they were the only ones he had in his arsenal. Ronan sat up on the bed, a deep frown set on his lips, and Adam exhaled heavily. “How. Could. You?”

            “What on earth are you talking about, Parrish?”

            “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about,” Adam snapped. He stepped further into the room, got as close to Ronan as he dared, which still left three feet of space between them. His entire body trembled with words he couldn’t say, wouldn’t know how to say. “How could you?”

            “So I left,” Ronan said, anger making his voice rough. He stood up, the bed springs bouncing once loose from his weight. “What did you expect me to do? Lay there until you woke up? Make you breakfast? You think I wanted to see the look on your face when you realized what you’d done?”

            Adam blinked. “What the hell are you talking about?”

            “The night I killed Kavinsky,” Ronan replied. He stared at Adam, his mouth still open around Kavinsky’s name. “What the hell are _you_ talking about?”

            “The wedding.”

            Ronan stared at him, his mouth open, pink lips a perfect ‘O’. “You’re mad,” Ronan said slowly, “Because Blue is marrying Gansey?” He paused. “I don’t believe I’m the right person for you to be yelling at for that.”

            “You are the stupidest person I have ever met.”

            Rage built in Ronan, all of his muscles tensed. His shirt collar was open, the tip of his tattoo exposed, and Adam’s eyes caught on the skin as the veins of Ronan’s neck bulged. He took a step closer, his voice a growl. “What did you just say to me?” he asked.

            Adam looked up at him, met white-hot blue eyes. “The wedding,” Adam said, steady. “Your wedding.”

            For a moment, the entire room froze around the words. Adam could feel his heart beating, the only indication that time hadn’t stopped entirely. Ronan’s gaze, blank as the spotless snow outside, made hope spark in Adam’s chest. Perhaps it had been a mistake. Perhaps there was no wedding, no engagement, no attachment to Elizabeth Czerny. Perhaps Ronan was about to laugh at the fact that Adam had believed Mr. Whelk at all.

            And Ronan did laugh, but it was a short, bitter sound. The kind of sound that cut through the air and stopped any happiness in its path. “That’s why you’re mad at me?” Ronan asked, his voice venom, dripping. He took a step closer, little to no space separating them. “You’re mad at me for getting married?”

            “You didn’t tell me.”

            “Why would I, Mr. Parrish? What claim do you have to that knowledge?”

            Adam swallowed. Weak, he said, “We’re friends.”

            “ _Friends_?” Ronan repeated. He stepped on Adam’s toes, so close his breath ran through Adam’s hair, his heaving chest hitting Adam’s with every inhale. “We’re friends now, Mr. Parrish? I wasn’t even aware you were good enough to lick my boots.”

            Adam bristled at the comment, swallowed. “You should have told me.”

            “You have no right,” Ronan hissed. He stepped closer, oblivious to the fact that he was already on top of Adam. Adam moved back and ended up trapped against the wall. His eyes flickered from Ronan’s fire blue down to fresh pink lips. “What makes you think that you have the right?”

            “You know,” Adam said.

            Ronan’s fist hit the wall beside his head and he flinched. Fingers came down into his hair, no space between their two bodies. Adam could feel every button of Ronan’s shirt, the buckle of his belt. Ronan’s legs were inside his, the outsides of his thighs pressed to the insides of Adam’s. Adam tried not to breathe too hard despite Ronan’s puffing breath, his warm air on Adam’s mouth, on his lips.

            Adam felt a hand on his hip, fingers splayed across the fabric of his clothes. His breath hitched and he stared into Ronan’s eyes, bright blue, all consuming. Ronan’s forehead fell against his, their noses mashed together, and all of Adam’s higher functioning ceased to work.

            “Tell me,” Ronan whispered, his lips close enough that the air between them fluttered, buzzed with the tension of the words.

            If Adam knew anything in that moment, it was that Ronan had been wrong. Every detail from his speech in the abandoned house played through Adam’s mind and he could agree with most of it. The roughness of Ronan’s hands, the strength of his body pinning Adam to the wall, all of that left him breathless. The imminent touch of callused lips, the thought of how Ronan’s stubble would prick him, made his body strain against Ronan’s dominance.

            But still there was the issue of the fight for power, the struggle that came with lying down with a man. Adam knew in that moment that Ronan was completely, irrevocably wrong. Because there was no way that Adam was going to fight him. Ronan could do anything he wanted with him, anything at all, and Adam would lay still beneath him, willing.


	36. Chapter 36

Ronan could feel every single one of Adam’s muscles beneath him. Adam was better than he had imagined, somehow. The swell of him, the tenseness of his body, the way he ceased to breathe when pinned up against a wall, all without ever losing eye contact, made him intoxicating in ways Ronan couldn’t have imagined. He clenched his fingers around loose strands of Adam’s hair, pulled until he gasped, the sound warm in the sliver of air between them.

            The hand Ronan had at Adam’s waist slipped an inch, an inch more. Without a word between them, he could tell Adam was begging him to close the space, to get it over with. And every nerve ending in Ronan’s body was firing, giving him the same message, but he took it slow, moved his hand slow, kept his lips just not quite within Adam’s reach.

            “Tell me,” Ronan repeated. He ran his thumb along Adam’s jaw, felt the heat of his skin.

            “I have the right because—” Adam’s breath caught as Ronan pressed against him, a slow rhythm of movement. For a second, Adam’s eyes flickered closed and Ronan stopped, his hand on Adam’s neck, his pinky finger against the rough cotton collar of his shirt. “Because. Of this.”

            Not technically an answer, but Ronan was past caring. He dug his fingernails into the back of Adam’s neck and let his nose slip from on top of Adam’s to the side. His skin was cold with sweat, his heartbeat strong against Ronan’s chest. Ronan licked his lips and his tongue touched Adam’s lips.

            The door to the room opened and Gansey said, “I found evidence.”

            Ronan  sighed, his eyes closed, and his whole body deflated. Cold air rushed between him and Adam, just a rock backwards on his heels enough to separate them. Their foreheads still touched, noses stuck together. “You’re interrupting,” Ronan growled, the hand on Adam’s neck curling into a fist.

            “I meant to,” Gansey said. The sound of him sitting at his desk, paper rustling, filled the air. A very heavy book opened against the wood surface. “Now come see this.”

            Ronan considered ignoring him. If he kissed Adam anyways, rolled him onto Gansey’s bed and began undressing him, there was little his friend could do to stop him. He stood still for a moment, his body cooling down, then slammed his fist into the wall and stepped away with a deep, sighing breath. Halfway to gasping, he approached Gansey’s desk.

            “This better be good,” he warned, his voice still rough.

            If Gansey noticed, he ignored it. “Here I have the record of money changing hands between Mr. Gray and a man my father insists is a Russian mob boss, named Neeve. The next day, Niall Lynch was killed.”

            “I’m not sure that’s evidence,” Ronan snapped, his tone ruder than it should have been. He was unwaveringly aware of the fact that Adam was still up against the wall, unable to move, his breath heavy enough to fill the entire room. He could feel it skittering over his skin, pricking the spots of sweat that had appeared across his neck. If Adam stood there for much longer, he’d go back and kiss him, Gansey be damned. “How do you prove this has anything to do with my father’s murder?”

            “Patience, Mr. Lynch,” Gansey said, which Ronan found ironic considering he couldn’t wait five goddamn seconds to enter a room. Gansey flipped to another page and pointed out a row of numbers that meant nothing to Ronan. _One more second against that wall..._ “See here that the same exchange between the same people will happen tonight. If we go down to Greenmantle and catch the exchange in progress, we’ll have our proof.”

            “You want us to go back to the place where we were almost killed?” Adam asked. He took a step away from the wall and stood on Gansey’s other side. Ronan forced himself to relax, proximity to Adam nothing new.

            “Precisely.”

            “And then I can kill Mr. Gray for killing my father,” Ronan said.

            “Arrest, Ronan,” Gansey said with a noise of disapproval. He closed the book and a puff of dust plumed into the air. “You can have your fun some other time.”

            “Not with you around,” he muttered.

            Gansey shot him a look over his shoulder, his hazel eyes smooth and challenging. “There’s no reason why a man should be killed in cold blood when he can be properly tried for his crimes. I’ll call on the police now and set up a sting for later tonight. Your father’s killer will be behind bars before midnight, Ronan.”

            “Fine,” Ronan said. It took effort to keep his eyes on Gansey’s as his friend stood from his chair. “You go right ahead and make that call.”

            Gansey stared back at him, eyes steady. Then he said, “Mr. Parrish, I have a few more details to go over with you before the wedding. Might you come with me so we can talk?”

            “What details?” Adam asked. His eyes shot to Ronan and then back to Gansey; his Adam’s apple bobbed hard and Ronan felt electricity prick the sweat on his skin.

            “Just little things,” Gansey said. He picked up the book and took a step towards the door. “I need to make sure everything is arranged so that Blue and I can get married without a hitch. You know, things like who will walk her down the aisle, who will be in her wedding party. I was thinking you could walk her down the aisle, since the two of you are close friends.”

            Adam nodded. “Of course.”

            “And as for her wedding party, I thought Miss Czerny might be a nice bridesmaid for her to have given that Ronan is my best friend. It’s always nice to have an engaged couple next to the bride and groom, don’t you think, Mr. Parrish?” There was an unnatural bite to Gansey’s words and his smile held a warning instead of its usual warmth. Ronan saw Adam swallow, his cheeks go red. “But that’s just a suggestion. We can speak of alternatives if you come with me to make the call?”

            Adam followed Gansey out of the room and Ronan watched him go, half-tempted to grab the back of his jacket and pull him back into the room. One of these days, Ronan would have sex on Gansey’s bed just to spite him.


	37. Chapter 37

Late that night, Adam stood up against a concrete wall in Greenmantle, listening to the sounds of five policemen breathe around him. He bit his bottom lip as he kept his eyes on Ronan who stood in the middle of the intersection between Albany and Seaport, smoking a cigar. He was surprisingly casual, pacing the cobblestones, looking up only occasionally at the sounds of passing footsteps.

            “It’s fifteen minutes past, sir,” an officer said.

            Gansey nodded. He stood beside Adam, calm. His eyes never left Ronan. “Thank you for your patience, officer,” Gansey said. “I’m sure you have many important things to be doing at the moment but I assure you that if you stay, you’ll catch Niall Lynch’s killer tonight. There are cops who would pay to be in your position, Reynolds.”

            The man inclined his head. “Yes, sir, but your information seems to be flawed.”

            Gansey licked his lips, clearly unused to having his authority questioned. “Ten more minutes, Reynolds. That’s all I ask.”

            Reynolds made a hand gesture that told the others to wait in place and no one moved except for Ronan, who took a step and stumbled over an uneven patch of the cobblestones. Adam smiled at the trip, at the easy way Ronan collected himself like nothing had happened. Had he not been carefully instructed to ignore the seven men in the shadows, Adam was sure he would shoot them all a glare to make sure none of them had seen him fumble.

            “Mr. Parrish,” Gansey said. “May I ask you a question of a personal nature?”

            Adam looked at Gansey, but still the man stared at his best friend as if he were afraid that he might be shot without warning, no one able to rescue him. The thought curled Adam’s stomach but he swallowed it. “Of course, sir.”

            The officer in front of Gansey tapped his fist against the building, his badges jingling. All five cops unholstered their weapons and, at the sound, Ronan’s hand went to his waist. His eyes searched the area but landed on nothing.

            “Do you respect the sanctity of a marriage?” Gansey asked.

            Adam swallowed. He tried not to blush at the thought of earlier, with Ronan pressed against him. “Of course.”

            “Then perhaps you understand that Mr. Lynch is a different type of man than you are, than I am,” Gansey said. His voice was measured, the words coming out polished and rehearsed, though when he would have had the time to rehearse them, Adam had no idea. Perhaps he had given this speech a hundred times before, spewed it whenever Ronan got too close to someone Gansey knew. “I intend to stay true to Blue for the rest of my life, come what may. And Miss Czerny very likely intends to stay true to Mr. Lynch, no matter what. But Mr. Lynch does not have the same intentions towards her. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

            “Yes,” Adam said. “But they’re not married yet, Mr. Gansey.”

            Finally his hazel eyes met Adam’s, filled with sadness. “Ronan is not a man of fidelity, whether that is to his wife or anyone else. If you insist on becoming a number on his list, I will not stop you. But I won’t be there to pick up the pieces if you do, Mr. Parrish.”

            Adam held his gaze for a moment, nodded. “I understand, Mr. Gansey.”

            Gansey hesitated a moment, perhaps in lieu of an apology, and then looked back at Ronan. Adam followed his gaze to the man in the centre of the intersection and noticed that his muscles were now tense, the puff of his cigar less regular.

            “Two minutes, Mr. Gansey,” Reynolds said.

            “Something’s about to happen,” Adam said. He met the officer’s eyes, steady. “Trust me.”

            Reynolds looked to Gansey for confirmation and he nodded. All the police officers took up their positions, Adam and Gansey pushed back for their own protection. Adam saw Ronan spread his arms wide, the sides of his coat flapping, making it obvious to whoever approached that he had a gun.

            “Mr. Gray,” Ronan said, his voice abysmally loud in the quiet of the night. “What a funny coincidence to see you here, so late.” Two men walked into the intersection, one the man from the night at the docks with Blue and the other new, somehow darker, his whole head covered with black curls, his hair and beard both long. “Who is your friend, Mr. Gray?”

            “You shouldn’t be here, Mr. Lynch,” Mr. Gray said.

            Ronan’s smile only widened. “Why ever not? These are my streets. That’s my warehouse. That’s my warehouse too. And you see that green door over there? One of my many enforcers lives there.”

            “Don’t get cocky now,” Mr. Gray said and there was an underlying note of affection in his voice. “All of this is your brother’s, not yours.”

            Ronan snorted. “We both know that Declan has no interest in these streets, these people. Much too dirty for him. He might break a nail.” He laughed at his own joke. “You still haven’t introduced me to your friend, Mr. Gray.” There was a note of a challenge in his voice, a challenge that was not overlooked.

            Mr. Gray’s own smile hardened, turning to ice. “Why are you here, Mr. Lynch?”

            “Here?” Ronan blinked. He looked around like he just realized where he stood, the whole show over the top, but the police had told him to act drunk. His eyes focussed on the cobblestones below him and he pointed at one of them, haunted. “Well, that’s the spot where my father’s brains were dashed on the pavement. And over there is where his shoes were found...”

            Mr. Gray softened. “You should go home, Mr. Lynch. There’s no need for you to torture yourself like this.”

            “Isn’t that why you’re here, Mr. Gray? To stand here and wonder what you could have done to stop it? If you could have done something to stop it?” Ronan looked Mr. Gray right in the eyes, suddenly lucid. “You were his right hand.”

            Adam swallowed, aware that Ronan had very likely just cost himself the moment. But Mr. Gray simply reached out a hand to grasp his shoulder. “I loved your father like a brother. I’m very sad he’s gone, but unfortunately I’m not here to reminisce. I’m here to conduct business with my friend, Neeve.”

            “I could conduct business,” Ronan said in the same tone one might say, “I could go for a stroll” or “I could eat.”

            “This is nothing you’d be interested in, Mr. Lynch.”

            “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

            Mr. Gray sighed, shot a glance towards his bushy-haired friend. His hand wrapped tighter around Ronan’s shoulder and Ronan winced, his hand going for his gun. He fumbled on the handle, but managed to spit in Mr. Gray’s face to step away.

            “You shouldn’t have done that, Mr. Lynch,” Mr. Gray snapped.

            Ronan finally got his gun out and pointed it at the man. “I’ll do what I please. As I have already pointed out, this is my land, my cobblestones, my buildings, Mr. Gray. You cannot conduct your business here without my express permission.”

            “I think you’ll find that the rules are changing.” Mr. Gray pulled his gun.

            Adam swallowed. Mr. Gray’s safety was off, but Ronan’s was still on. Mr. Gray could shoot before Ronan even had the chance to pull the trigger and around him five policemen were waiting for a confession, not for a shot to go off. He held his breath, tried to keep his heart in his chest.

            “And when did that start?” Ronan asked, voice measured. “Before you killed my father? Or after?”

            Mr. Gray sneered. “So you finally figured it out, did you? Congratulations, Mr. Lynch. You win. I killed your father. But you forgot something.”

            “What’s that?” Ronan asked.

            “Like always, you decided to be a bandit instead of a citizen. I can’t blame you; your father raised you that way. But, unfortunately, it means that the police will find you dead on these cobblestones, your brain dashed in the same place as your father’s. Fitting, no?”

            “Very fitting,” Ronan said. He holstered his gun. “Unfortunately, you’re wrong about me.”

            And at that moment, the police moved in. Ronan stepped back, let them have their moment, but his eyes never left Mr. Gray. Gansey reached him before Adam, his hands grasping his best friend’s arms. “That was incredibly stupid of you,” Gansey said.

            Ronan smiled. “But for once, it was your incredibly stupid idea.” His eyes flickered from Gansey to Adam and he said, “Anyone up for a celebration?”

            Adam stared into Ronan’s eyes, watched him suck on his bottom lip. His heart beat a little faster, calmed from the confrontation but now back in his throat. Problem was, Ronan’s eyes weren’t the only ones on him. Gansey’s judgemental hazel stuck to him like tree sap and his words repeated over and over in Adam’s head _. I won’t be there to pick up the pieces._

He faked a smile for Ronan’s sake and said, “Perhaps another night. I have an article to write.” As he stepped back, he watched Ronan’s face fall and felt his heart shatter into a million tiny pieces.


	38. Chapter 38

Ronan sat on the floor, his back against Gansey’s bedroom wall. He chewed on his thumb, deaf to the drone of Gansey’s wedding chatter. Whatever Gansey said, he had said before and one of the hundred times he had said it, Ronan must have been listening. The wedding was tomorrow and the house was alive with the noise of the preparations. The _Daily_ had had three articles on it, all by Adam Parrish. Ronan’s wedding announcement had come out the day before and he was sure his heart hadn’t beat since reading that Adam had written it.

            “Are you listening to me?” Gansey asked.

            “No,” Ronan replied.

            Gansey sighed, not annoyed, and stopped his pacing in front of Ronan. Ronan looked up at him, flawless in a white suit even if it was a little too bright for the winter landscape outside. “I asked if you thought I should go with the white or the black.”

            Ronan blinked. “Have I seen the black?”

            “Yes,” Gansey replied. Then his eyes narrowed in concern. “I changed in front of you and not only did you not make a single comment, you failed to notice at all?”

            Ronan managed a smirk. “Does that bother you, Dick? If you change again, I promise you’ll have my undivided attention.”

            A smile flickered across Gansey’s face but went out merely a second later. He sat down on the floor across from Ronan. “Is this about Mr. Parrish?”

            “Is what about Mr. Parrish?”

            Gansey gestured to all of Ronan, as if Ronan wasn’t aware he was a disheveled mess, complete with a battered lower lip and a bleeding thumb. He looked like he had been on the wrong end of a bar fight when in reality all he’d done was spend the vast majority of a night drunk, the majority of the next day trying to convince the police not to arrest his future father-in-law, and the night after aimlessly pacing the street below Adam’s window, hoping he’d look out and invite him in. But either Adam hadn’t gone home or the reporter had made a night of avoiding him. Perhaps both.

            “Do you know what I think?” Gansey said and Ronan stared at him, knowing he’d go on with or without Ronan’s help. “I think you need to forget about Mr. Parrish.”

            “In that case, I think you need to forget about Blue,” Ronan said.

            “That’s different.”

            “Is it?”

            Gansey made a dramatic show of letting go of a sigh. The mystery solved, all of his curious energy had gone towards handling his wedding and, now that there was nothing left to do for that, he was about to start handling Ronan. Ronan was used to it, at least. Gansey got involved in his love life far too often, from walking in on near kisses to outright telling Ronan to break off a relationship. Now, it seemed, the latter was about to become Gansey’s top priority.

            “I think that Mr. Parrish was never good enough for you,” Gansey said. “He’s—”

            “Of a lower class? A mere reporter? Who even knows who his parents are? He could be a bastard,” Ronan snapped. Venom on full display, he’d been ready to snap for days. His feet were sore, bruised from walking back and forth all night. “I wonder who else in our lives we could apply those terms to?”

            “Please don’t be rude to me, Ronan.”

            “Please don’t pretend you understand me, Dick.”

            Gansey’s eyes flooded with pity and Ronan had half an urge to kick the other man in the shins. “You’re to be married soon,” Gansey said lightly. “I know that I cannot make you stay faithful to your wife, that you will continue to sin all the same with a ring on your finger, but I can spare Mr. Parrish some pain.”

            Ronan stared at Gansey. “What is that supposed to mean?”

            “I know what you do with men, the ones who aren’t locked up in whorehouses. And I quite like Adam Parrish and he’s a good friend of my fiancé, my soon-to-be wife. I couldn’t let you trample on him like you do everyone else.”

            Heart in his lungs, Ronan could barely breathe. He stared at his best friend, pieces falling into place for him, pieces so long forgotten that it took a moment for his brain to put it all together. “It was you,” he said. “All my life I just thought... I thought men grew up and they got married and they forgot their sins. They forgot me. But it wasn’t that at all, was it? For all my life, you’ve been the one breaking my heart.”

            “That’s hardly fair.”

            “Isn’t it?” Ronan snapped. He felt the break in his voice, saw Gansey flinch with it. “What did you say to Adam?”

            “Ronan—”

            “What did you say to him?”

            Gansey swallowed, his hazel eyes on the floor. “I simply reminded him that soon you would be married.”

            Ronan breathed out a volley of curses that barely made Gansey flinch. With a shake of his head, he said, “I trusted you. All my life, I trusted you.”

            “Ronan—”

            “Don’t touch me,” Ronan said as Gansey reached out his hand. He curled his legs back into his body, adding space between the two of them. He let his head fall back, hit the wall behind him. He whispered, “I trusted you.”

            A hesitation, then, “My apologies.”

            “What good are your apologies?”

            Silence flowed through the room, Ronan focussed on the sound of his breathing, Gansey’s nails against the carpet. A clatter of dishes came from downstairs, along with a shout, and Ronan smiled for a moment, sure some poor servant was getting the brunt of Mrs. Gansey’s anger, unleashed on the world for the day before her son’s wedding. If it had been a better moment, he might have laughed at the thought.

            “I am still a Gansey,” Gansey said, his voice a shock to the quiet. “And there are things that I can do.”

            “Such as?” Ronan asked, raising his head from the wall.

            “I can get an apartment, close to your house,” Gansey said. His eyes were wide, all of him imploring. “Under my name, no one will ask any questions. I can have keys made by tomorrow. One for you, one for Adam.”

            Now Ronan did laugh. “And can you convince Adam to go?”

            Gansey held his eyes for a moment, licked his lips. “I don’t think that I’ll have to convince him at all.”

            The words fell heavy on Ronan’s ears and it took him a second to nod, to accept the gift with thanks. His heart sped up a bit at the thought, an apartment close by, somewhere he could meet with Adam indefinitely, throughout his marriage, his life. A smile settled on his lips and he relaxed back against the wall.

            “Now,” he said, “let’s see the black suit again. I think I liked it better.”

            Gansey smirked, but stood and dropped the white jacket to the floor.


	39. Chapter 39

Adam stood outside the door to one of the many guest rooms in the Gansey mansion and waited for Blue to come out. For the last hour, she had been snapping at and then apologizing to multiple women who were trying to tie her into the elaborate wedding dress that all Gansey women had worn since the beginning of time. But she had been silent for some time, only making a sound when someone pulled her hair too tight, and Adam knew soon she would open the door to the room and invite him inside.

            He didn’t know why he had agreed to walk her down the aisle. No one was going to believe he was her father and certainly that would raise questions of her parentage, questions Adam had fought hard not to have come up. He knew that over four hundred people were gathered in the Gansey’s ballroom, waiting expectantly for the wedding to start. More people were still arriving, aware that most weddings, like this one, started late.

            The door to the guest room opened and Blue called, “Adam?”

            He stepped in and froze. Blue stood in the middle of the room, a stiff white dress covering all of her skin. The sleeves were lace as was the fabric that covered her neck. Patterns of flowers worked their way over soft white silk, tying around her waist and then billowing out into a stiff A-line skirt. Her hair had been braided and tamed into an impressive pile on the top of her head, not a strand out of place.

            Her eyes though, her eyes were nervous, terrified. “How do I look?” she asked.

            Adam smiled. “Like a goddess.”

            A smile spread across her lips, no teeth shown. “Is this how you imagined me walking down the aisle towards you?”

            “No,” Adam said. “If you had married me, your dress would have been off the rack, your hair braided by your mother, and I still would have wept to see you walk down the aisle. I have no idea how Gansey expects to stay standing with you in this dress.”

            Blue laughed. She spun, but the skirts stayed in place. “I can barely breathe in this corset,” she admitted. She spread her hands towards him and he took them, let her pull him closer. “I can’t believe this is actually happening.”

            “Believe it,” he said. “In less than an hour, you will be Mrs. Richard Campbell Gansey III.”

            She wrinkled her nose. “Will people call me that?”

            “All the time.”

            “I guess I’ll learn to live with it,” she said. “Like I’ll learn to live in these walls, with these servants, and scoff at women on the sidewalk who show their ankles and doubt my mother’s predictions...” She trailed off and her eyes sparked, focussing once again on Adam. “Which reminds me of the reason why I will never doubt her predictions.”

            Adam faltered, his smile twisting awkwardly. “Excuse me?”

            Blue let go of his hands and walked over to the dresser. She picked a silver key up and pressed it into his palm. “I’m glad you found someone, Adam.”

            “I don’t understand.”

            “Gansey told me that he made a mistake the other day, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was,” Blue said. “All he said was that I needed to give you this key because someone that you love has the second key and will meet you at 223 Yates Street, apartment 3B, after our wedding reception.”

            Adam stared at her, felt the cold silver of the key in his hand. “I don’t understand,” he repeated, even though he did. His heart stayed threateningly still, however, and when Blue removed her hands, he continued to stare at the key as if he expected it to disappear at any given moment.

            “My mother predicted love for you,” Blue said. “I’m glad that she was right.”

            Before Adam could say a word, there was a knock at the door. He pocketed the key and turned to see Mrs. Gansey poking her head in. “Are we all ready to go in here?” she asked. The usually hard lines of her face softened at the sight of Blue. “You look beautiful, my dear.”

            “Thank you, Mrs. Gansey.”

            “We’re ready to go?”

            Blue nodded and Adam offered her his arm. She held it tight, her fingernails digging into his suit jacket. They walked through several long hallways and down a flight of stairs before reaching the main entrance for the ballroom. Stalled behind three rows of people, bridesmaids and groomsmen handpicked by Mrs. Gansey, Blue took a deep breath and shook out the hand that held Adam’s elbow.

            “Sorry,” she said. “Nervous.”

            “Good nervous?”

            She nodded. “The best nervous.”

            The procession started to move and Adam kept his hand over Blue’s, a quiet comfort for the butterflies in her stomach. The ballroom was filled to the brim with people and all their heads turned to watch Blue enter. Then they got to their feet, Blue’s breath catching in her throat. Adam squeezed her hand, whispered, “You’re about to marry the man you love.”

            “My true love,” Blue said. Her eyes darted to the end of the aisle and Adam was glad to feel her instantly relax. “Gansey.”

            They walked up the aisle and Adam handed her off to Gansey, who smiled at Adam and mouthed, “Thank you.” Adam inclined his head and took his seat in the front row, Blue’s side, right beside Maura. Maura also thanked him and he nodded, his eyes already straying down the line of the wedding party to see Ronan. Ronan winked, then focussed back on the couple under the altar.

            The ceremony was traditional, slow, and watchable only because of the way Gansey and Blue stared at each other the whole way through. Blue always seemed to be on the edge of laughter and Gansey ready to laugh with her, following her every cue, deferring to her every move. When the priest asked them to kiss, Gansey laid a chaste kiss on her lips that spoke of many less chaste kisses to come.

            Adam stood to watch the couple walk down the aisle and, as soon as they were gone, turned his gaze towards Ronan. Ronan walked down the aisle with Elizabeth on his arm, his eyes on her the whole time. And she looked back at him with the intensity of the sun, all of her focussed on all of him, blissfully unaware of the key in Adam’s pocket.

            The reception started soon after, servants moving chairs and tables to make room for a dance floor. Gansey and Blue walked back into the room arm in arm, kissed again, and danced to the sound of violins. Adam stood on the sidelines, invisible once again at a ball like this, noticed only by the members of Blue’s family that still erred towards hating him. He searched the crowd for Ronan and found him leading his fiancé onto the dance floor.

            Adam knew he couldn’t blame Ronan for spending his time with Elizabeth. He knew that his job was to survive this reception and meet Ronan later to finally do everything Adam had been dreaming about since the night in the abandoned house, Ronan’s lips on his skin. But, all the same, it was hard to watch Ronan dance with Elizabeth, keep his hand casually around her waist, smile when he spoke to her. Ronan, who was all rough edges and hard corners, softened for the golden girl.

            Perhaps that was why Adam gave up an hour into the reception. He snuck out the back door, the same back door he had used the last time he was in that ballroom, when he had gotten his heart shattered by Ronan and Elizabeth for the first time. They had seemed happy then, like they seemed now, and even though Gansey had recanted his words, they floated heavy through Adam’s mind. Soon Ronan would be married and then what would Adam be to him but another memory.

            Cold air flooded him, but he found his breath steady, even. The air didn’t even come as much of a shock, all of him already frozen, his fingers blue before he stepped outside. He moved to cross the street, one foot off the sidewalk when he heard Ronan shout, “Adam!”

            He turned to see Ronan on the Gansey’s porch, dressed to the nine’s with a top hat and tails, a worried smile on his lips. Ronan dashed down the front steps and said, “Could you simply not wait all the way through the reception to see our apartment?”

            Something in the way Ronan said the words let Adam know the joke fell flat for Ronan as well. Ronan’s panic, something so rare, was palpable in the air, his eyes not meeting the easy tease of his voice. Adam couldn’t bring himself to fake a smile, not now, not here, so Ronan’s smile fell too.

            “What’s wrong?” Ronan asked.

            “Nothing,” Adam said. “Everything.”

            “Tell me.” Ronan stepped closer, curled his arms around himself in the cold.

            Adam met his blue eyes, would have drowned in them if Ronan hadn’t been drowning already. He opened his mouth to reply, but he found there weren’t words for exactly what he wanted to say. His heart felt heavy in his chest, a physical weight against his lungs. “I’m sorry,” Adam said.

            “For what?”

            “I can’t do this.”

            “Can’t do what?”

            Adam licked his lips, scrunched up his nose to stop from sniffling. “This. The apartment. Whatever the hell it is that you’re asking me to do by giving me a key to a place near your house weeks before you’re set to be married. I can’t do that to Miss Czerny.”

            Ronan scoffed. “Since when do you care at all about Miss Czerny? When Gansey was set to marry her just because his parents wanted him to, you didn’t say a word. You stood there and reported it, knowing he didn’t love her. How is this different?”

            “Because she loves you.”

            Ronan blinked. “Her heart gets broken no matter what. Apartment or no apartment, I can’t love her back.”

            “You don’t think you could learn to?”

            “No!” Ronan exclaimed, suddenly angry, desperate to cling to some emotion. “You think if I had any choice in this, if I could fall in love with a girl like Elizabeth, that I wouldn’t have made that choice a long time ago, Adam?”

            Adam licked his bottom lip. “I’m sorry, Ronan. But the thing is, she loves you and she expects to be married to you for the rest of her life, whether you are faithful to her or not. And you may not be able to be and that’s not your fault. You can’t love a woman but the thing is... I can. I have.”

            “You’re not making any sense,” Ronan snapped. He grabbed Adam’s arm and pulled him off of the street. “Would you please just come back inside?”

            “I can’t.”

            “Why not?”

            “Because,” Adam said, his voice soft. “I can’t do this. Not just to Elizabeth, but I can’t do this to your children. And I can’t do this to my wife and my children and you can’t expect me to sit in that apartment all day, waiting to see if you’ll come one night or not. You can’t expect me not to live a life just because I love you. Because one day I’ll love my wife too and my children, and I won’t be able to come to terms with what I’ve done to them.”

            Ronan’s lips moved around non-existent words. “We can deal with that when it comes to that.”

            “Ronan, please.”

            “You can’t,” Ronan said. He shook Adam’s arm, his nails biting through Adam’s jacket. “Gansey didn’t mean it. Whatever he said to you, he just did it so that I’d end up with Elizabeth and—”

            “Everyone would be happy,” Adam finished.

            A frozen silence shifted between them, Ronan’s grip loosened. “Except for me.”

            “Mr. Lynch,” Adam said, “I hope that you can find some happiness and some comfort in a life with your wife, who will love you more than I could. I hope... I hope you’re happy one day, truly happy.”

            “If you did, you wouldn’t do this. You wouldn’t leave.”

            Adam stepped back, his whole body shaking. “I’m sorry.”


	40. Chapter 40

Ronan watched Adam walk away from him. For weeks, months, years after he would wonder why he had stood there and watched. He would wonder why he hadn’t yelled Adam’s name or ran after him or grabbed him by the coat and kissed him until he got dizzy and all thoughts of leaving left his head. Those moments, those long minutes it took for Adam Parrish to walk down the street and out of Ronan’s life would haunt him until the day he died.

            The feeling those moments left in him, the emptiness, would heal. He walked back into the party, his mind numb from the shock, and found Elizabeth waiting for him, her concern a salve to the worst of the injury. She brushed a hand over his head, found their hosts to apologize, and removed him from the ball. He’d gone home without her, but had she not been there, he might have stayed all night, a statue in his seat, the whole room wondering if Ronan Lynch had finally gone insane.

            He and Elizabeth got married in the spring, waiting for the buds on the trees to flower into blossoms. She was gold to his black. And if he needed to think of someone else to be able to do his husbandly duties, if another name was on his lips, trapped between his teeth the whole time, he didn’t think too badly of it. She still got pregnant, still gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. And Ronan found something else to love, some part of him he didn’t have to hate, a little girl made from his sacrifice.

            Convincing Elizabeth to get the _Daily_ delivered had barely been a conversation. He had asked to switch papers, they had switched papers, and he spent mornings reading and re-reading prose written by Adam Parrish. In the afternoons he would go out to the docks, breathe in the salted air coming off the sea, and run his business in Greenmantle.

            Then he stopped finding articles with Adam’s name on them and he stopped reading the _Daily_. Elizabeth got pregnant with their third child –the second a boy Ronan had named Ronan Lynch II to mock Gansey for naming his son Richard Campbell Gansey IV. And around that time, Blue was pregnant with her and Gansey’s second.

            The families got together for tea and, as casually as he could manage, Ronan asked, “Whatever happened to that reporter who did the story on your wedding? Parrish, I think?”

            Whatever the look was in Gansey’s eyes, Ronan immediately didn’t like it. He felt his heart sink in his stomach, settle there to stop beating. Hazel trained on him, Gansey’s lips soft around words he didn’t say.

            Blue was the one who spoke. “Didn’t you hear? Adam got a job in Boston, moved... four, five months ago?” Gansey nodded and Blue continued, “They’ve been hounding him ever since he wrote that article on your father’s murder, years ago. It took them this long for someone to finally introduce him to the editor’s daughter and, well, the rest of it is history.”

            “The editor’s daughter?” Ronan echoed. His voice was weak around the words, but only Gansey seemed to notice.

            “Noelle,” Blue said.

            There was a space of silence, then Gansey said, “He said he was going to speak to you before he left. I asked, since you were... close.”

            Ronan nodded, tried to move his heart back into his chest. He took a sip of his tea and faked a smile, a possible, improbable Lynch smile that Elizabeth had taught him over the years. The man he was supposed to be, the man society should have raised him to be, was now an easily worn mask that he put on for the vast majority of every day. “Speaking of weddings,” he said, even though they weren’t quite, no one having mentioned that Adam and the editor’s daughter were to be married, although Ronan assumed they were, “We should raise our children to be married.”

            Elizabeth laughed, but Blue looked outraged. “I am not arranging a marriage for a child born of true love and sacrifice,” she snapped. “That would be the worst form of blasphemy.”

            “I actually think calling that blasphemy is the worst form of blasphemy,” Elizabeth said, the joke tentative on her lips. She had warmed to Blue over time, but Blue’s quick mouth sometimes still made her falter.

            Ronan smiled and said, “We’ll just have to orchestrate it so it ends up as true love.”

            And somehow it did. Although not with the children present in their mother’s bellies at that conversation, but with the ones before. Raised in close quarters, little Bella Lynch and Richard Campbell Gansey IV fell hopelessly in love and were married in one of the biggest weddings of the season, bringing together three of the highest society names in one family. The children in question at that tea inexplicably hated each other and were known for pulling out clumps of the each other’s hair.

            Ronan’s life was quiet, happy. He had a wife who loved him and there were worse things than being loved. He had children who he loved and there were worse things than having someone to love.

            But Ronan still managed to get Boston papers delivered to the house and read every word that Adam Parrish wrote. And if he continued to think of Adam late in the night when he was in bed with his wife, he didn’t blame himself. And if he kept close tabs on Adam, on Adam’s wife, and on his four beautiful children, he thought of himself as a sort of guardian angel, watching over all of them, making sure they were taken care of.

            And if his wife noticed any of it, she didn’t blame him either. For no one could expect Ronan Lynch to forget the man he loved.

**THE END**


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